


Hungry Like The Wolf

by KSven (KarateSven)



Series: Bad Moon on the Horizon [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, plus everyone's parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22143418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarateSven/pseuds/KSven
Summary: Scott McCall didn't have many expectations of high school, but being bitten by a werewolf and inheriting the shifting abilities associated with the supernatural was not one of them. Now, faced with a madman running around the forests of Beacon Hills, Scott and his friends are forced into a conflict they had never prepared for.They'll figure it out...right?
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall
Series: Bad Moon on the Horizon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593796
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. A Wolf Emerges

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone says ANYTHING I know this is a teen wolf fanfic in the year of our lord 2020 but you know what? I'm tired of pretending that that series made any damn sense or that it ended well. So, I wrote this for my own fulfillment because I, and all of you, deserved a better story than what we got SO.
> 
> Here it is, I hope you enjoy :)

Lydia ran the last few steps before stopping in front of the stop sign that she uses to mark where to end her run. She put her hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath as the last few notes of Britany Spears’s “Toxic” started to fade out in her ears. After another minute, she started moving again, this time at an easy walk toward her car down the block to drive home.

She usually saved her runs for the weekend, but she figured it was good to get out of the house this evening since it was just a little too quiet and Jackson had been avoiding her. The thought of Jackson made her frown; her boyfriend had always been a little distant, but nowadays he felt untouchable. He was pulling away, avoiding her calls and waiting hours to finally text her back, and at school he just barely acknowledged her existence, and Lydia didn’t know why. Then a thought came to her: what if he wanted to break up with her? That thought alone almost had Lydia screaming in frustration, but before she could really start thinking about her relationship with Jackson a man turned onto the path in front of her and started moving in her direction.

The streetlights had turned on and Lydia could see that the man was wearing all dark clothes and solely focused on the phone in his hand. As they walked toward each other, Lydia realized that the man she saw was none other than the infamous Derek Hale, notorious black sheep of Beacon Hills.

_For a guy with no friends he’s really hot,_ she thought to herself. As he drew closer, Lydia noticed the scruff of a beard on his jaw, the ruffled black hair, and the chiseled jaw line. From what she could tell, he was built too, with broad shoulders and chest beneath a dark t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket. 

Lydia was sweaty and wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she knew she was pretty, and flirting with Derek Hale wouldn’t hurt anyone. As he moved closer, she brushed the wisps of her red hair back from her face and made sure to add a bit of swing to her hips. Once she was about five feet away from him Derek glanced up for a second, before his gaze swiveled back down and focused on his phone again. Lydia’s intrigue was quickly replaced with outrage.

_Who does he think he-_ her thoughts and her body froze. A shiver, that travelled from the bottom of her spine all the way to the crown of her head, overtook her and her mouth fell open at the sensation of. In a matter of seconds, she was overcome by a feeling of terror and devastation and her limbs froze, and as Derek Hale passed by her, she let out a loud, drawn out shriek that sent birds scattering from the nearby trees. 

With the kind of agility Lydia had never seen before, Derek leapt away from her, his phone clattering to the ground beside her as he fell into a crouch on someone’s lawn. In that moment, Lydia could have sworn that his eyes were blue, but when she blinked they were a normal dark brown. The two of them looked at each other for a moment; Derek’s surprise slowly melting into outrage and Lydia felt her mortification turn her face redder as the seconds went on. 

“ _What._ The hell.” Derek snarled, marching forward and snatching his phone off the ground. “What is your problem?”

Lydia Martin, who was quick to the draw when it came to verbal comebacks, opened and closed her mouth trying to come up with an answer. She had only felt like this a couple times before, but she had thankfully never screamed like she had in front of another person before. That is, until today.

“Seriously,” Derek said lowly, “what is your problem kid?” 

The angry _kid_ snapped Lydia out of her dumbfoundedness and replaced it with her own brand of outrage. “ _First_ of all, I am _not_ a kid.” She said, pointing at him, “second of all, I don’t _know!_ ”

“Oh, so you just like to scare the shit out of people for fun?” Derek asked, incredulously. 

“No!” Lydia said, matching Derek’s volume. “I just…I don’t know how to explain it, I felt like something terrible was going to happen and I screamed okay!” And because she was embarrassed she tacked on at the end, “Don’t make a big deal out of it!”

Derek opened his mouth to say something more, probably to tell her off, before there was a buzz in his hand and his eyes drifted down to his phone. As he looked at the notification the anger in his face shifted into confusion then fear, and before Lydia could say anything else Derek was sprinting away from her, running faster than any person Lydia had ever seen.

Lydia watched after him for a couple seconds more, disoriented by what just happened. As she turned back towards where her car was parked, she noticed that porch lights were turning on and some people were opening their curtains and blinds to see what exactly all the commotion was. Unnerved, Lydia jogged back to her car, got in, started the engine, and drove away from the block towards her house where she could watch _The Nanny_ reruns and forget this ever happened.

______________

Laura Hale was many things, but a fighter was not one of them. 

She desperately tore through the forest, hoping that no one was out tonight and that no one would she her half shifted features as she barreled her way through the trees and underbrush. She ran through another bush, the thorns on the branches tearing through her sweater and ripping across her face as she ran. She thought she knew who was tailing her, but she wasn’t entirely sure, and most of all she didn’t understand why he of all people would be after her.

There was a crash behind her and claws tore across her back. Laura screamed, falling face down into the dirt and dead leaves. She could feel the wounds begin to burn as they started healing, but the wolf, hoisted her up by the back of her neck, turned her around and pinned her to the nearest tree. Laura dug her claws into the forearms of the creature and started to shift; her features changing and shifting into that of a large wolf. 

She raked her claws across the other wolf’s abdomen and he, she assumed it was a he, howled and dropped her, backing up as he clutched the bloody gashes across his furred chest. Laura snarled and dove for him, her arms going around his torso and knocking him bodily to the ground, her claws ripping across any bit of flesh they could find as her jaws tried to find purchase in his neck. 

The other wolf snarled and flipped them over, roaring at her once before sinking his fangs into her neck. Laura let out a gasped whimper and tried to push him off, to claw him, to do _something_. But the other wolf had found a hold, and was clamping down harder, then Laura felt him puncture her jugular, and she knew then that she would not last much longer.

But she continued to thrash and claw and fight. The wolf on top of her kept tearing at her neck, and Laura could feel the warmth of her body leaving her as more of her blood splashed onto the forest floor. Her vision began to go dark and her limbs started to feel cold. Through the haze of pain Laura hoped that Derek had gotten her warning, and that her little brother would live longer than she did.

And it was with that last thought, Laura Hale closed her eyes.

______________

Scott McCall, average asthmatic teenager, pulled his chest guard on and buckled the straps under his arms as the boys around him finished changing into their gear. 

Scott wasn’t a particularly talented Lacrosse player, but he did it because if you didn’t play Lacrosse at Beacon Hills High School you were considered an oddball by your peers, but it helped that the game was actually fun. Beside him Stiles Stilinski, his best friend and fellow oddball, chattered away about his dads’ latest police case.

“-And the reports that I listened in on said the body was found in the woods, butt naked, and ripped up like a huge apex predator had found her,” he said shimmying into his red Beacon Hills jersey. Stiles was taller than most everyone else in their homeroom class, but he was also wiry and possibly the skinniest person Scott had ever met. “I mean I’d guess that it was a bear but bears don’t just go around killing people-”

“Stiles please stop talking about dead people.” A voice sighed behind them, Scott turned around as Danny, the team goalie, finished tying his cleats. “I really don’t wanna be sick before practice.”

“Come on Danny,” Stiles says, waving his hand around excitedly. “Aren’t you curious about what happened? I mean that’s one more Hale family member dead and-”

“Are you still talking Stilinski?” a voice drawled. The three boys turned to look at Jackson Whittmore, the team captain, staring at them with a bored expression. “You know, if you put as much attention into Lacrosse as you do talking, you’d be the star player.” Jackson also had the worst temperament out of anyone Scott had ever met.

“Okay you know what- wait you think I could become the star player?” Stiles asked.

Jackson rolled his eyes, “of course I fuckin don’t you loser.” Jackson then picked up his Lacrosse stick and helmet, “now hurry up, coach will make us run additional laps for every minute we’re late and if you two chuckleheads make us more than ten minutes I’ll strangle you myself.” With that, Jackson marched out of the locker room and out the door that led to the field. 

Danny stood up too, picking up his own helmet and lacrosse stick and heading for the door. Before he walked out with the rest of the team that was trickling out onto the field, he turned to Stiles and Scott with a contemplative look. “Let’s go boys.” He said before turning and joining Jackson on the field. Now it was Stiles, Scott, and a handful of other stragglers.

“Remind me,” Stiles said, yanking on his gloves and velcroing them closed with annoyance. “Why do we play Lacrosse again?”

“Because it’s fun.” Scott said, picking up his helmet.

“What about Jackson and Coach Finstock is fun?” Stiles asked incredulously. Scott shrugged in response, grabbing his lacrosse stick and heading for the door.

“I don’t really play for them.” Scott said pushing the door open and heading out onto the field, Stiles following behind him reluctantly.

As they walked toward the rest of the team Scott heard Stiles say, “on a scale of one to ten how bad do you think practice will be today?”

Scott grinned and turned to give Stiles what he hoped was an encouraging look. “Definitely a ten.”

______________

Just as Scott predicted, Coach Finstock ran the boys ragged during practice. They spent an hour and a half doing warmups, and the rest of practice doing exercises. By the time the clock hit seven o’clock the boys were all exhausted, except for Jackson who just seemed frustrated and pissed off. 

“Alright boys good work today,” Coach Finstock bellowed, “maybe tomorrow most of you will start running like actual teenagers instead of undead CORPSES!” 

Scott, who had an unfortunate case of asthma, had his hands on his hips and was wheezing in and out in order to catch his breath. Stiles looked much the same, except he had both hands on his knees and was groaning every other second. “Big talk,” Stiles wheezed, “from a guy who hasn’t worked out since ’84.”

Finstock whirled around and narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “What was that Stilinski?” Finstock wasn’t a particularly large man, but he did have the charisma of an army general and the vocal chords of a heavy metal front man. He was five feet and seven inches of barely contained fury, with dark brown hair, an ovular face, and large crows feet due to all the glaring. Together, those things made him a truly intimidating figure at Beacon Hills High School. 

“I said ‘ow my diaphragm,’” Stiles wheezed. In response Finstock rolled his eyes and mimed smacking Stiles’ head with his clipboard. 

As stealthily as he could, Scott fished his inhaler out of his shorts pocket and took a puff of air. He started to breathe a little bit easier after that and could focus on the rest of Coach Finstocks fifteen minute rant. Coach went on to tell them that they better start playing better or they will never get to the playoffs and that “his grandpa with two replaced hips could play better than them” and so many more analogies that the assistant coach started to get glassy eyed.

Finally, Finstock took a breath, and said “also I have to walk all of you to your cars and watch you leave because of this animal attack thing that happened.” He rolled his eyes at that, indicating that the recent murder was a real inconvenience to him specifically. 

The rest of the team groaned but Scott was a little relieved. His mom had been really worried about the most recent case and she would be thrilled to know that the school was looking out for the students. 

Slowly, the whole team filed into the locker room and as swiftly as possible threw off their sportswear and replaced it with their sweats. Jackson and Danny were the first changed and both of them sidled out of the locker room without a backwards glance, talking quietly to each other as they left. Stiles waited before they were out of earshot before he spoke.

“Why does Danny hang out with Jackson anyway,” Stiles said throwing on his indigo hoodie over a t-shirt. “I mean, Jackson is a dickhead and Danny isn’t. What is his appeal?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said, “they’ve been friends forever. Maybe they’re just really close.”

“Or Jackson is bribing him cause he has no real friends and rich parents.” Stiles muttered, as he threw the rest of his gear into his bag. “By the way, I found a new murder mystery podcast we can listen to on our way home tonight.” He said lifting up his phone and giving it a little shake.

Scott smiled as he shouldered his own bag, “aw man I’d love to listen to that podcast. But my mom gave me the car for tonight cause she’s carpooling with a coworker today. Next time for sure.” Scott turned and headed for the door, Stiles close on his heels.

“Today of all days you don’t need to drive with me,” Stiles said, feigning hurt and striking a dramatic pose as they walked. Scott snorted and playfully shoved Stiles away. 

True to his word, coach Finstock was hovering around the front door of the school, watching everyone drive off. He was still squinting and when he saw Scott and Stiles approach his eyes narrowed even more. There was a line of lacrosse players who Finstock’s assistant was taking roll of and as soon as he called their names they each walked into the parking lot, got in their cars, and drove away. Stiles and Scott gave their names, gave each other a fist bump goodbye, and jogged off to their cars.

Scott pulled out of the parking lot and made his way down the road towards his mom’s house. As was his practice, he turned on the radio for his drive home; the station was playing Ariana Grande’s “7 rings.” 

For Scott, the woods were relaxing. They were calm and quiet and he sometimes took slow walks between the trees to relax and take a break from schoolwork. He enjoyed sitting among the leaves and rocks and just listening, just feeling the sunlight on his face or the light California breeze. Maybe after school tomorrow he could-

There was a long drawn out beep and Scott looked at the dashboard of the car and groaned. The TPMS symbol (Stiles called it the tire light) was glowing, and Scott knew that he must have run over something that punctured the tire. Slowly, he pulled over on the side of the road, turned off the engine, and got out of the car.

“Great.” Scott muttered, as he turned the flashlight in his phone on. As he crouched down he felt over the ridges of the tires to try to find out which one was the one that had a hole in it. _Mom’s not gonna be happy about this,_ he thought to himself as he poked and prodded the rubber of each tire. 

As he ran his fingertips over the ridges Scott felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was up in an instant, his phone flashlight pointed at the woods. For a second there was nothing, then something snapped in the brush and Scott gripped his phone tighter.

“Very funny Stiles,” he said. He shifted the phone left and right, looking for a hidden teenage boy, or a face trying and failing to stay in shadow.

But he didn’t see Stiles. For a couple seconds he didn’t see anything, until he moved his phone again, and the light caught the reflection of two dots in the darkness. Scott shifted his phone back, but the dots had disappeared. Scott knew something wasn’t right; the woods had gone weirdly quiet and usually Stiles would let up after a little bit. 

“Stiles?” He called out again, his voice cracking. There was no answer, save for the winds that rustled the leaves on the trees.

Scott pulled his phone closer to him, and began to punch in his passcode so that he could call his mom or Stiles’ dad or _anyone_ before he got too scared. But before he even opened his phone app, there was a growl that seemed to reverberate through his bones. It was a sound he had never heard before; it sounded like two heavy stones grinding against one another, and Scott felt the fear start to claw its way up his throat. His hands started to shake, as he slowly raised the flashlight. 

As he did, he saw just what had made that noise. It was a massive wolf, with dark brown fur that curled at the ends. The wolf was massive, bigger than any normal wolf had any right to be, and as Scott stared at it the animal moved and stood on its two back paws. Paws that looked more like clawed feet than paws. Its’ front paws, which weren’t really paws, but hands with long fingers and sharp claws at the end; it’s sharp teeth were pearly white and dripping with saliva. As Scott watched it, with its odd reflective red eyes, the wolf licked its lips and Scott…

Well, Scott is only human. He turned and ran.

Scott barreled through the trees and bushes, not really knowing where he was going, just trying his hardest to get away from whatever horrible wolf monstrosity was chasing him. Scott made a sharp left turn at a large tree and slipped, falling face first into the dirt. He scrambled back to his feet and kept running.

He sprinted as fast as he could, trying to outrun the sound of heavy footfalls behind him. Scott looked back for a moment to see how close the monster was before tripping and sliding down a hill. He tumbled twice, head over feet, before sliding to a stop at the bottom of the hill. His chest was heaving and he felt a little sick, but Scott shakily pushed himself to his feet. 

He looked around, searching the dark woods for the same thing that was chasing him, but he saw nothing in the dark. So, Scott pulled out his inhaler and took a quick puff of air and took two deep breaths to calm down. He was sweaty and terrified, and he turned around to try and figure where he had just run too, until he heard a low growl behind him.

Scott froze, then slowly turned around to look at the wolf, only to find that on all fours the monster was on eye level with him. It’s red eyes seemed to bore into him, and Scott could do nothing but stare back, sweat running down his back. 

Before he could even blink, the monster tackled Scott to the ground, pushing him into the dirt, his claws digging into his legs and shoulders. Scott yelled, punching and kicking against the wolf, but the thing seemed to be made of hard muscle and the animal didn’t so much as blink in pain. Then it opened its jaws, revealing long, knifelike teeth, before sinking them into Scott’s side.

Scott screamed. The sound tearing through his throat and out into the uncaring forest. He felt the blood start to pump up through the puncture wounds on his abdomen, then there was the pain, the worst pain he had ever felt. It was a slow burn that built and built until it was an inferno; Scott squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it would be over soon, that he loved his mom, that he would miss Stiles…

There was a shout somewhere in the dark, and Scott opened his eyes to see three lights in the distance, coming steadily closer. The pressure in his side stopped, but the pain was still there, as the monster let go of him. Then the weight on top of him abated too, and he knew that whatever that was had left. He looked up at the red eyes again, and the monster opened its mouth once more, teeth stained red with his blood, and then it spoke in an unrecognizable low growl.

“If you survive,” it said, “come find me.” Then it was gone again. The lights started to get closer and Scott, who could barely move, turned his face to see that the lights were in the hands of three people rushing toward him. 

They all surrounded him and started speaking to him all at once, but Scott’s vision began to get blurry as the pain pulled him under. The light was fading, their outlines becoming more and more indistinct, until Scott could barely recognize them anymore. Then his eyes closed, and he only saw darkness.

______________

Melissa McCall paced around the waiting room, both hands wrapped around her middle. She felt Sheriff Stilinski’s eyes on her and she paced but he didn’t say anything, not after he tried to tell her everything would be alright and she snapped at him to be quiet.

Scott had been late coming home tonight and he was judicious about telling her, so that she knew she shouldn’t be worried. So, when there was no text and no sign of Scott fifteen minutes past his curfew, she knew something had gone wrong. Then of course, she had gotten the kind of call she had hoped she would never get. The Sheriff’s officers had been in the woods, searching for the body of the murdered Hale woman when they apparently heard Scott scream, and found him lying in the dirt. His sweatshirt torn and several deep puncture wounds driven into his side, just above his hipbone.

“Melissa?” She stopped and turned to doctor Geyer as the Sheriff stood up in solidarity. Dr. Geyer, one of the doctors and Melissa’s boss, was a tall man, with brown skin, a dark moustache, and warm brown eyes. He motioned toward Melissa, his smile was small but relieved, “please walk with me.”

She looked briefly toward the Sheriff, before following Dr. Geyer down the hall. He led her to a hospital room window; Scott was lying down on the bed, oxygen tube under his nose as his breaths came evenly. Melissa almost collapsed there and then, but she held herself up, swallowing the relieved tears that wanted to fall, and waiting for Dr. Geyer to tell her how her baby was doing.

“He was reacting badly to whatever it was that bit him.” Dr. Geyer said, “it almost looked like he was having a seizure when he was first brought in. We had to put him under in order to disinfect the wounds and stich them up.” He paused once, before continuing “we also gave him the rabies shot just to be safe, he’ll have to come in and get the other three.” 

“When will he wake up?” Melissa asked, her hand going to her throat, her eyes never leaving Scott.

“Not sure.” Dr. Geyer said, “he’s under a lot of medication at the moment but he should be lucid in the morning.” Dr. Geyer said rubbing his chin. “But there is something really- truth be told I’m not sure how to describe it.”

“What’s wrong?” she said immediately tensing, readying herself for whatever bad news Dr. Geyer was about to tell her.

But the bad news never really came. “Well, Scott’s healing incredibly fast. So fast that, if what I saw was correct, I’ll need to take his stitches out in only a few hours.”

“What?” Melissa blinked, “that- that can’t be possible. It would take a couple months at least for the punctures to close-”

“I know,” Dr. Geyer said, “but this is- it’s something else. He’s healing at an exponential rate. I’ve never seen anything like it. Once he wakes up tomorrow, you can probably take him home.” 

Melissa felt two conflicting emotions whirl around inside her; the kind of attack that her son sustained should take weeks to heal, but with what Dr. Geyer was telling her, that didn’t seem to be the case. Something was not entirely right about this situation. On the other hand, Melissa McCall was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and if her boss was telling her that her son was going to be okay faster than any of them thought he would, then she was all too happy to see him home the next morning.

“He’s gonna be okay?” Melissa said, and even she could hear how small her voice sounded.

Dr. Geyer put a gentle and friendly hand on her shoulder, “he’s gonna be alright Melissa. He might need some therapy,” Dr. Geyer added, “but he’s gonna be alright.”

She looked at her boy, laying back on the hospital bed, his eyes closed and his breaths coming evenly. Melissa had no idea why Scott was going to be okay sooner than he should have been, but she only knew that her boy was going to be okay, and for her, that was all that mattered.


	2. Change in the Air

Scott underlined the sentence with his red pen, indicating that it was important and that it would probably come up in later discussions. He really didn’t get the gist of Animal Farm at first, but now that he was halfway through the book he was starting to get that it was an allegory. That, and his mom spoiled the ending a day ago. He had been home for four days at this point, and it was starting to feel a little strange to be out of school so long while his friends were all there. But after what he’d been through- it was definitely fair that he missed a couple classes. 

At the reminder of why he was home, the scars just above his hipbone seemed to throb in response, and Scott put a hand there absentmindedly. When he had first woken up, he was groggy, then terrified because the last thing he remembered was a huge monster knocking him over and then sinking its teeth into his side. The nurses tried to calm him down but it was only Dr. Geyer, the one familiar face, who put a hand on his shoulder and told him to take deep breaths. After that they ran some tests and asked him a bunch of questions, so many that Scotts head began to spin. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the questioning and taking his blood pressure and all the doctor-y stuff was over, and his mom rushed in. 

Scott liked to think that he was pretty tough- he was a seventeen-year old lacrosse player after all- but when his mom walked into the room all he did was fall into her arms and cry. His mom stayed with him for what seemed like hours, as Scott cried into her shoulder and she stroked his hair and told him he was okay. 

And he was okay, for the most part.

He still felt the same as he did before but also…different. Scott didn’t know what was different about him exactly, he still felt the same, but something was off. It was as if he was more sensitive, like his senses had been dialed up to eleven instead of their average six. He felt both stronger and strangely vulnerable at the same time, and he didn’t know what this was a symptom of but he hoped it would go away soon. 

As Scott read on, the differences between the Napoleon and Snowball becoming more and more clear, until he put his book down. There was a low thrum in his ears, it was a familiar beat, and as he listened it started to get a little bit louder. Close enough that Scott could pinpoint where it was, which happened to be his front porch. In a second Scott dropped his book and launched himself over the couch, through the hallway, and before he knew it he had thrown open the front door. 

Stiles stood there, fist raised to knock, and his eyes wide in surprise. For a moment the two boys looked at each other, while Scott tried to process how he knew someone was at the front door. 

“Wow,” Stiles said, stepping inside and letting Scott close the door behind him. “You’ve got great timing Scotty.”

“Thanks-” Scott cut off as Stiles enveloped him in a tight hug. After the attack, Stiles came to visit him, and the entire time Stiles was there he stuck close to Scott’s side, and seemed to find any excuse to lay a hand on his shoulder or arm. Scott hadn’t talked to him about it yet, but he could tell that Stiles was worried about him, and that his best friend was trying to stay calm and collected for Scott’s sake. He appreciated that about Stiles; how deeply he cared about the people he loved, it was one of his best qualities.

Stiles finally let him go and marched into the house, depositing his backpack on the kitchen table. “So,” Stiles says as he rifles through the McCall’s fridge, “how do you feel?”

“Better,” Scott said, sitting down at the table. Stiles poured himself a glass of orange juice and sat across from Scott, pulling out a notebook and pen. “I’m basically all healed.”

“Really?” Stiles looked up, surprise etched in every line of his face. “Already?”

“I know,” Scot said, “it’s weird. Dr. Geyer was the most surprised of all, but he double checked everything and said I could go home.” 

“Well whatever. I’m glad you’re okay.” Stiles said, looking away from Scott as he said the last part. Then he opened his notebook and slid it across the table to Scott, “here’re the notes from today that you missed. Plus, I have news.”

“What kind of news?” Scott asked, walking back into the living room and picking up his own notebook.

“There’s a new girl in our homeroom.” Stiles sipped at his orange juice, “her names Allison. She’s pretty and from San Francisco.”

Scott hummed in response, scribbling out the neat, bulleted notes that Stiles wrote out from their English class and their next assignment. Stiles continued to talk about the new girl and how intriguing she was; he usually wasn’t so interested in school gossip, so Stiles must have been refraining from talking about his dad’s job or his True Crime podcasts for Scott’s sake. It was considerate of him.

“And to top it all off,” Stiles waved his hand in a grandiose manner. “Jackson and Lydia still do their gross PDA thing in the hallway and its awful.”

“You just don’t like it cause you’ve been nursing a crush on Lydia since forever dude.” Scott intoned, finishing copying and closing his notebook.

Stiles looked affronted, “ _No._ I just think if you’re gonna suck face with your boyfriend you could do us all a favor and go _home_ first.” He said huffing, “also coach yelled at Danny at practice yesterday, which never happens.”

Scott looked up at that, his eyebrows moving toward his hairline. “What for?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “for not guarding one ball. But it was one shot! Coach was being crazy.” Stiles said sitting back, “yelling at someone that handsome should be a crime.”

Scott looked at Stiles quizzically, “‘handsome?’” 

“What?” Stiles said, “he is handsome.”

Scott paused for a moment before smiling and shrugging. “Whatever you say.” He watched as Stiles finished the rest of his orange juice before continuing, “by the way, I’m gonna be back at school on Monday. Doctor said I was good to go.”

Stiles looked at Scott with a mixture of relief and worry. “He’s sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, tapping Stiles on his forearm gently. “I’m probably not gonna play lacrosse any time soon, but I’m okay to start school again.” 

“Okay. Good.” Stiles said, picking up his things and heading for the door. Scott followed him to the front door, and once Stiles opened it he paused, then turned around. “Scott?”

“Yeah?” 

Stiles gripped his shoulder, his umber eyes serious as he looked at Scott. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Scott grinned, and pulled Stiles into a one-armed hug. “Me too.”

______________

The car pulled up to the schools’ entrance, her dad putting the car in break as he did.

“Have a good day sweetheart,” he said, leaning to his right and letting Allison plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“Bye dad.” She said, closing the car door and heading inside Beacon Hills High. Finding out she would be moving to a small city in California for her spring semester of junior year was a shock to Allison. Her family had been moving from place to place since she was ten years old, and making this small city their permanent home came as a bit of a shock. Allison had friends back in San Francisco; a good group of people she liked and now she would have to find new people to befriend. It was a dance she was tired of doing, but she would do it nonetheless. 

First thing she did was go to her locker to grab her things, only when she opened her bag to put her notebook in, she realized she forgot her pencil bag. “Shoot.” she muttered, “I don’t have anything to write with.” Allison closed her locker in a huff and resigned herself to sneakily taking pictures of the whiteboard when her teacher’s back was turned.

She made her way into homeroom, ignoring the curious eyes of her fellow students, before taking her seat. To her right, a boy she hadn’t seen before was sitting at the desk next to her, and as she set her bag down he turned to her. 

“Do you need to borrow one?” he asked, holding out a pen. 

Allison blinked as she looked at the boy and then back at the pen he offered her. He was cute; with rich dark curls, olive skin, and warm brown eyes that regarded her with interest and an earnestness that eased her nerves a little. Allison took the pen, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I do, thanks.” The boy grinned, and turned back to his own notebook, scribbling his own notes messily. The rest of the class was uneventful: Mrs. Jeffers ran through the events of the Cold War and assigned a small paper on one of the many impacts of the conflict. Perfectly mundane stuff; information Allison had learned before at her other school. 

The bell rang and Mrs. Jeffers ended her lecture, dismissing the students to their next class. Allison packed up her things before realizing that she still had the pen, and when she looked up the boy was halfway across the room to the classroom door. Stuffing the rest of her things into her backpack, she went after him, calling after him as he walked.

“Hey!” the boy turned around, his expression surprised as Allison caught up with him. “You forgot this.” She said, holding out his pen to him.

“Oh,” he said, “don’t you need to use it for the rest of your classes?”

Allison blinked, “I mean, yeah I guess I do but how- how did you know that?”

The boy stuttered, adorably in Allison’s opinion, and his face flushed. “I saw that there was no pencil case and thought you didn’t have anything else to write with.”

“Oh,” she said, “then you’d be right.”

The boy smiled, then gently pushed her outstretched hand holding his pen back towards her. “Then keep it. I’ve got plenty.”

“Well okay.” She said, her smile widening, “I’m Allison. Argent. Allison Argent.” She said, wincing a little at her own awkwardness.

“Allison.” The boy said, “my name’s Scott. Scott McCall.” Then he actually held out his hand for a shake, his eyes bright and smile wide.

“Very formal of you Scott,” she teased. Regardless, Allison took his hand and shook; his fingers were warm and calloused. 

“I’m a well-mannered boy.” Scott grinned. 

She grinned as they looked at each other, his smile infectious. Then she remembered she had a physics class she didn’t know how to get too. “I’ve got a question for you Scott: do you know where this classroom is?” She held out her class schedule and Scott glanced at it. When he read over the letters and numbers he smiled again.

“Yeah I can show you, it’s just down the hall.” He then seemed to realize that he might have been too forward and flushed again, “I mean, if you want too.”

Allison, who so far had no friends and knew no one outside of her family, was relieved and a little bit endeared. “I’d like that.”

______________

Derek stood, silent and still as the groundskeepers slowly lowered his sisters casket into the ground.

He had been to enough funerals to know how this would feel; Derek had witnessed family members be buried before. But this was Laura, his big sister, who seemed to stay on top of the world. After his mother died, Laura dropped out of college and came back to Beacon Hills so that she could raise Derek and his little sister Cora; Laura had worked multiple jobs to keep them in school and paid for their new apartment. 

An apartment that now belonged to him. Along with the rest of Laura’s things that he had to split with Cora.

The whirl of the machine stopped as the casket hit the ground below. Alton, the Druid that Derek had hired to say a few words, made a short speech. Derek barely heard anything he said; it felt like his head was full of cotton and anything said around him was muffled. Finally, Alton tapped Derek on the shoulder, his eyes kind, and motioned for him to take a handful of dirt. 

Mechanically, Derek sunk his fingers into the cold earth, and grabbed a handful. He thought of his mother, how Talia would’ve wept at what’s happened to her family. His father Lewis, who Derek lost after he died in a car crash right after Cora was born. His uncle Peter, who had disappeared after the fire and hasn’t been seen since. Lastly, he thought of Cora, his little sister who had been living with a family friend in San Diego and made the trip down to Beacon Hills to come to the funeral. 

Dressed in black, and carrying a handful of dirt beside him, stood Cora. Her eyes were glassy and rimmed with red. This was the last reason Derek had ever wanted her to visit him, but here they were. The last of the Hale’s. It was a sobering thought to say the least.

As Derek tossed his handful of earth onto Laura’s coffin, he remembered her last text to him: _He’s back little brother. Watch for wolves._ Derek didn’t know what that meant entirely, but what he did know was that he had to have his guard up. Beacon Hills wasn’t a normal place, and if this person, whoever they were, was back, then he killed Laura. He killed his sister, and as the last bits of earth fell from his fingers, Derek made a vow.

_Whoever you are, I will find you._ He promised, _and I will make you pay for what you did to my family._

______________

 _Allison Argent,_ he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time, her name and her face and her voice had been running through Scotts mind in a continuous loop for the entire day and even now, when he should be paying attention to the plays happening on the lacrosse field, all he could do was think about her. After Scott had walked her to class she had said goodbye with a small wave; Scott watched her go inside before sprinting the other direction so that he wouldn’t be late to his own class. His class that happened to be at the opposite end of the school. He managed to only be two minutes late, and he had no idea how he got there so fast, but regardless he was glad he didn’t get a write-up.

“Come on Stilinski!” Scott heard coach Finstock yell from the bleachers, “ducking away from the ball is the opposite of what you wanna do!”

Scott was pretty much healed from the awful attack in the woods, but even with a note from the doctor telling his teachers he was okay for classes and practice, Coach Finstock was adamant that Scott stay on the sidelines for the next couple practices. _Sit down and watch practice McCall,_ he had said, _I don’t need you playing before you’re ready._ It was weirdly sentimental for coach Finstock, and was immediately negated when he called Bobby Johnson a “overconfident twig in sportswear.”

So, here he was. Sitting on the bleachers and watching all his teammates play, waiting for something to happen. He thought about today, and how he still felt a little off-balance, like there was a change in him that he couldn’t put his hand on. Scott closed his eyes and tried to focus; in superhero movies closing your eyes and breathing seemed to work, so he gave it a try. 

At first nothing really became clear; Scott just heard a lot of loud sounds coming from the field and the rustling of trees. But the more he focused, the clearer the sounds became; they built into a large cacophony and suddenly Scott was overwhelmed. He resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears and tried to single something out, anything, before he screamed. 

Then he heard a familiar sound; a young baritone voice that he had heard many many times before, and Scott honed in on that. He honed in on Stiles’ voice until it was the only thing he heard, and soon enough he focused on the fast _thump thump_ of something else. And when Scott opened his eyes and watched Stiles run around on the field, he realized that the thumping was his _heartbeat._

He could hear people clear as a bell on a field, and he could hear heartbeats. That was new.

“MCCALL!” Scott jumped in his seat, and turned to see coach Finstock glaring at him.

“Tell me,” coach said, “what was wrong with that play just now?”

Scott looked at where the players were on the field and who had the ball and scrambled for an answer. “They, uh, didn’t defend the offense enough?”

“Close enough.” Coach said rolling his eyes and turning away, starting to scream at Stiles once more.

______________

“I’m gonna feel this tomorrow for sure.” Stiles said, rubbing at his sore shoulders. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think coach pays more attention to players he actually likes.” Scott said, keeping pace with Stiles as they made their way to his jeep.

“That does not make me feel better.” Stiles said as he unlocked his jeep. The boys piled their things into the back before Scott slid into the passenger seat and Stiles turned the key into the ignition. Stiles drove them out of the parking lot and out towards the nearest Trader Joes, music blasting from the radio. 

“I just don’t see why we have to read _Animal Farm._ ” Stiles said, emphasizing his words with one hand. “I mean, the Cold War is over and also they’re farm animals. I’m not sure the analogy works too well.”

Scott chuckled, “Stiles you can just say you _don’t_ like the book.”

“Okay then I don’t like the book,” Stiles huffed, “smartass.”

“Wasn’t trying to be a smartass, i’m just saying, you can just say how you feel.” Scott said, his foot tapping restlessly. Soon enough, they pulled into the parking lot. Stiles killed the engine and ushered Scott out of the car, talking excitedly about movies.

“Okay so this Friday’s movie night, what are you thinking about watching?” Stiles asked as the sliding doors to Trader Joes opened for them. 

Scott surveyed the various fruits and vegetables before turning and heading toward the frozen section, picking up spring rolls and potato skins. “I dunno,” he said, “what about _Underworld_?”

“Underworld? No, the way they model werewolves is totally stupid and seems way too unrealistic.” Stiles scoffed, grabbing a box of cereal. “Maybe we should watch something cheesier, like the Ryan Reynolds version of Green Lantern.”

Scott scrunched his face in displeasure. “Stiles that movie is awful.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s fun.” He said, “or maybe Alien?”

Scott actually felt himself pale at the mention of that movie. A memory of last Tuesday flashed through his mind unbidden and his hand went to his side on instinct. “Maybe not that one.”

Scott felt Stiles’ eye on him, but the other boy made no comment. He simply kept rummaging around for more snacks, and as he picked up another box of cookies he began to walk backwards towards the registers. “Well I think a bad superhero movie is our best bet.” 

Scott followed behind Stiles durifully, eyeing the refrigerated chicken sandwiches in the refrigerated aisle before turning back. Stiles was still talking and walking backwards, which meant that Stiles had no idea he was about to collide with a guy in a black suit who was walking between the stands.

“Stiles-” too late, Stiles walked himself right into the guy, who didn’t so much as flinch. Stiles yelled and whirled around, making eye contact with the person he just walked into; who just happened to be Derek Hale.

“Uh,” Stiles said. “Sorry.”

Derek sighed, and waved the apology off. “It’s fine.”

Scott didn’t know much about Derek; he was kind of reclusive and didn’t much like interacting with people in Beacon Hills. He kept to himself and his apartment, occasionally coming into town to do work on his family’s old house that had burned down ten years ago. Right now, he looked tired and a little sad, with heavy bags under his eyes and the scruff of a beard growing in. He was also holding eight different packages of sushi in his hands so, clearly, he wasn’t in the best mental place.

“I’m sorry about your sister.” Scott heard himself say, and he felt Stiles turn to him in mild surprise. “I read about it in the paper.” Derek looked at him, his coffee-colored eyes fixed on him, and for a second all Scott could see was exhaustion. That is, until Derek’s nostrils flared and the tiredness melted away and was replaced with surprise. He smelled something then; a scent coming off Derek Hale that was at once familiar and strange to him. He suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response. 

“Thank you, uh-” Derek squinted at the two of them, “I don’t know either of your names.”

“I’m Scott,” he said. He heard Stiles swallow before saying his own name at Derek, who nodded, his eyes on Scott again.

“Well thanks boys. It means a lot.” Then Derek turned and made his way to the cash register, sushi in hand.

Stiles waited until Derek was out of earshot before frowning. “That guy is weird as hell.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, trying to understand how he could understand Derek’s threat level by _smell_ all of a sudden. “Weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Cora is makes a short appearance, and yes I included Laura's funeral. They never really addressed Derek's dead sister in the show (at least from what I remember) and I wanted to make sure I did.
> 
> Also this was supposed to be posted earlier but my computer's battery kicked the bucket so I had to take it in to get it fixed. This chapter reads kinda slow because it's half character introduction, half exposition so im sorry about that. Next chapter things pick up again!
> 
> As always hmu @shadehunters on tumblr


	3. First Line

Vernon Boyd, ex-hockey player and tired high school student, really only wanted to go on a morning run and not have to deal with anything else. 

Boyd usually left the house at 5:30 so that he could get a forty-five minute run before school started. He liked running for a couple reasons; first, it helped him clear his head, second, the morning shower helped to wake him up, and lastly, it got him out of the house. For him, it was almost therapeutic.

Which is why what happened next so awful.

As Boyd turned down his street, he saw a flash of red and paused his run. He pulled his earphones out and looked around; no cop cars, no people, not even the birds were up this early. Boyd huffed, taking another deep breath, and was about to put his headphones back in when he heard it.

A low growl. That sent a tremor up his spine. Boyd looked back again, toward the line of trees that marked the forest, and saw two lights, large and red, staring back at him. And then the shadows seemed to shift and lights grew closer, and it became clear to Boyd that the lights were not lights, but _eyes._

He turned and ran; his morning run turning into a mad dash home. There was a snarl and suddenly something large and heavy slammed into him, knocking him face-first into the pavement and pushing the breath from his lungs. Boyd gasped, fighting to put more breath back in his chest, when the monster clamped its jaws around his right shoulder.

Boyd screamed; sharp teeth sliced through is shirt and skin, blood bubbling up and splashing onto the concrete and his face. As Boyd’s world begins to go dark, he hears a voice, it’s quiet but deep and menacing.

“If you survive, come find me.”

______________

“I can’t come over tonight,” Jackson said, typing on his phone. “I have to finish my French homework.” 

Lydia frowns as she zips up her backpack, “That’s never stopped you before, J.” 

“I need to get a good grade in this class.” He finally looks up at her as he says it, his hazel eyes unreadable. “Sorry.”

“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” She asks, her voice pitching up at the end. Jackson sighs, and Lydia doesn’t miss the eye roll he tries to hide.

“I’m saying I can’t come over.” He mutters, “don’t take everything so personally Lydia.”

“I’m not taking things personally!” She hisses, “you’ve been avoiding me and I just want to know-”

“Listen,” Jackson says, cutting her off and shouldering his backpack. “I’ve got math class in five minutes. We’ll talk later.” He plants a halfhearted kiss on her cheek before walking away. Lydia watches him go; her hands clenching and unclenching on her backpack strap as she tries to get her thoughts in order. 

Jackson was avoiding her, that much was clear; but he also didn’t want to talk about anything. Which meant, based on Lydia’s professional opinion, that maybe he did want to break up but was too chickenshit to tell her to her face. Or, the other option was that he didn’t want to break up, but wasn’t mature enough to actually talk about what was really bothering him. Which, unfortunately, left Lydia is some awful relationship purgatory. She hated this. 

Lydia slammed her locker in a huff, shouldering her backpack in frustration. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone; she turned to see the new girl, approach her, her smile easy but a little cautious.

“Um hey,” she said, a little awkwardly, “are you okay?”

Lydia blinked at her before replying, “fine. Totally fine.” She flipped her hair behind her for emphasis and the other girl, (Allison? she didn’t fully remember her name) raised her eyebrows.

“Oh well, good. You just seemed a little, uh, sad there for a second is all.” She said, shoving her hands into her pockets. Lydia stared at her a second longer; noted the sharpness of her jawline, her chocolate eyes, beautiful cheekbones, and long, curling, brown hair. She seemed like the kind of girl who was stunning but didn’t exactly care how stunning she was. Almost immediately, Lydia was intrigued by her.

“That jacket is absolutely killer,” Lydia said, sitting back on her heels and surveying the girls’ olive green military jacket. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, my mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco.” She said, nodding in confusion. She was a little awkward, but also seemed, if Lydia had to guess, very personable. 

Regardless, Lydia was delighted by her answer. “You,” she said, “are my new best friend.” Lydia then jerked her head down the hallway, “I’m Lydia by the way.”

“I’m Allison,” the girl said, following Lydia with a small smile. 

“Well,” Lydia said grinning, “it’s nice to meet you Allison.”

______________

“Okay so,” Stiles says, “would you rather have Captain America’s superpowers or Thor’s?”

Scott scoffs, “easy: Thor for sure.” he says pulling notebooks out of his locker, “he’s strong, fast, knows like ten languages, and _can control lightning._ No contest.”

Stiles nods sagely at the analysis, “I agree,” he says “I mean Captain America is great but aside from his vibranium shield he has no ranged artillery, whereas Thor, even if he didn’t have his hammer, could still blast a guy with electricity.”

Scott laughs a little as Stiles says it, the two of them making their way to class. He usually went everywhere with Scott to begin with, but after the attack Stiles had kept a closer eye on Scott; it mostly to see if anything was different about him, like if he was showing any signs of distress or depression. Thankfully, Stiles hasn’t seen any of that, but there was something a little bit off now. He didn’t know what it was exactly, couldn’t pinpoint what the change was, but Scott seemed just a little more attentive, a little more high-strung. 

The two of them walked into physics together, just as Mr. Harris was scribbling on the chalkboard. The boys took their seats, but the class was a bit louder than usual.

“You heard about Boyd this morning, right? That’s insane!” This is the other thing that Stiles had been nervous about: Boyd. There had been an emergency news broadcast around the beginning of their second class, that Boyd had been attacked by another animal earlier that same day and now police were swarming the suburbs. Everyone in the class was talking about it, and Stiles watched Scott visibly tense at the mention of it. 

“Hey,” he whispered, “you alright?”

“m’fine,” Scott said, fingers clenching and unclenching around his mechanical pencil. “Just tired.”

“Scott seriously you’re-”

“Alright, knock it off.” Mr. Harris said, finally turning to everyone. “We’re here to talk about physics and nothing else. If you need to talk to a counselor, then please do so after class.” The class quieted, and Mr. Harris gave Scott a small nod, before opening his textbook and beginning his lecture. 

Stiles kept sneaking sidelong glances at Scott, but he forced himself to stop. What he knew now was that whatever hurt his best friend was still out there, and it was hurting other people. Stiles began to run a mental list of the police reports he had read that were sitting on his dads’ desk at home (it wasn’t technically legal for him to do that but his dad didn’t need to know). He scribbled some notes in the margins of his notebook; he was going to do some research and figure out how to stop this wolf-beast thing, before it came for anyone else in Beacon Hills.

______________

“Do you have a date for the Spring Formal in April?” Lydia asks as they walk through the halls, spreading lipstick over her lips with the kind of balance that Allison could never hope to achieve.

“No. I don’t even know who would take me.” She says, watching her classmates pass by her after their classes let out. Allison’s pre-calc class had let out and Lydia had caught up with her about a minute later, talking about the lacrosse game, shopping, and the upcoming dance.

“Do you need a recommendation? Cause I know plenty of guys who would make perfectly nice dates.” Lydia said matter-of-factly, she then started listing off male students off the top of her head. “There’s Andy. He plays on the basketball team. He’s plenty nice but dumb as a box of rocks, he’s the ideal date honestly. There’s Colton, he’s going to be salutatorian and his dad offered to buy him a Porsche for his sixteenth birthday. Oh, and there’s-”

“Scott!” Allison said, both in genuine delight and relief. Scott had just walked out of his physics class, his friend Stiles in tow, and when Allison called out to them they both turned in her direction. Stiles looked between them in surprise and Scott- Scott just smiled his warm smile at Allison. She felt her stomach flutter a little.

“Scott?” Lydia said, her green eyes confused. “As in Scott McCall?”

“Hey guys.” Scott said approaching them, Stiles hovering behind him. 

“Hey.” Allison said, “how was class?”

Scott shrugged, while Stiles tried not to stare at Lydia. “It was alright. I’m not really a science guy to be honest.”

“Oh, me neither.” Lydia flipped her hair, “It’s not my thing.”

“Whaaat? No way,” Stiles interjected far too fast. He blinked and tried to backtrack, his face gradually turning redder. “I mean it could totally be your thing, not- not that I think you’re _bad_ at it, not what I’m trying to say at _all_ \- I mean-” 

“How was your class?” Scott asked, cutting Stiles off and placing a calming hand on his shoulder. Lydia looked incredulous, and Allison couldn’t really blame her at the stream of word vomit that just came out of Stiles’ mouth.

“Um, it was good.” Lydia said, staring at Stiles slightly before looking at Scott. “Just some basic math problems.” The dismissiveness of her sentence rubbed at Allison, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she replied:

“Eh, mine was fine. I mean to be honest I hate math so,” she said shrugging, “not my favorite thing.” Scott gave her a sympathetic look.

“Yeah, I feel that,” then he shuffled his feet and Allison saw his expression turn a little sheepish. “I was actually gonna ask you something, Allison.”

“What?” She asked, her heart starting to beat against her ribs.

“The boys’ lacrosse team is having a scrimmage tonight, and we can invite people.” He said, gripping his backpack straps, “and I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come?”

Allison resisted the urge to jump up and down at the question, instead she kept her cool and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there. What time?”

Scott blinked, and then the brightest smile Allison had ever seen broke out on his face. It was infectious, and soon she was smiling back at him. “Five o’clock.”

“We’ll both be there,” Lydia cut in, her face haughty. “Jackson is also playing in the scrimmage.”

“Oh. Cool.” Scott said, his eyes never leaving Allison’s. “Look out for number eleven then.”

Allison playfully shoved him, “you bet.”

______________

Stiles double checked to make sure that his cleats were tied before trying to buff out a scuff on his helmet with his sleeve. Not that it mattered what he did; coach definitely wasn’t going to pick him for the scrimmage today, but anything to keep his hands busy. Sitting in one place wasn’t really something he did well. 

“Scott, Lydia ignored me,” Stiles said, fighting the urge to pace. “Like she looked at you and Allison but ignored the _shit_ outta me.”

Scott, who was stretching his arm across his chest, gave Stiles a sympathetic look. “You blurted out a lot of things at her that she probably didn’t know how to respond too.”

Stiles groaned, it was no secret that he had been nursing a crush on Lydia Martin ever since he was a child in Kindergarten. Back then he and Lydia had been good friends, but now she was popular and dating Jackson and he was single and still harboring a massive crush on her. His situation was tragic to say the least. “Ugh.”

Scott grabbed his toes and stretched his back, “maybe you should just try talking to her normally. Like about music or something.” He said, “I mean what does she like?”

“Um, makeup?” Stiles questioned, giving into his need to pace. Coach and his assistant were nearly done setting up the lacrosse field, and the rest of the team were putting on their red and yellow jerseys for the scrimmage.

“Okay well then maybe you should find out what she actually likes,” Scott said rising. “And try to have a conversation about it.”

Stiles scowled and poked him with the end of his hockey stick, “you’re the cause of this you know.” He said, continuing to poke at Scott, “dragging me down to your nerd depths.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m a nerd by association.” Stiles said, poking at him a third time. In retaliation Scott grabbed Stiles’ gloves and tossed them at his face, the leather and canvas making a muffled smacking noise against Stiles’ cheek. He made a noise of outrage before coach sauntered over, his harried assistant in tow.

“Alright boys time to scrimmage!” Coach said clapping his hands together, “Jackson you captain the yellow team, Danny you take the red team, and start setting up.” Stiles watched as Coach ushered twenty different team members onto the field, leaving him, Scott and five other on the sidelines. 

“Coach I wanna play.” Scott said beside him, and Stiles almost groaned. He could appreciate how determined his best friend was about playing lacrosse, but the fact of the matter was that Scott was not very good at this game. In fact, he was only slightly better at it than Stiles was and internally, Stiles wondered why Scott kept at it. Coach Finstock, never one to mince words looked Scott up and down with scrutiny.

“McCall, did you forget that you were in the hospital not too long ago?” Coach asked.

“I know, but I’m better now.” Scott argued, puffing out his chest a little bit. Stiles blamed his new-found courage on the pretty girl with brown hair sitting in the stands behind them. 

“Oh, you’re better now?” Coach scoffed, “yeah that’s how recovery works.” His tone was sarcastic and he was ready to dismiss Scott again, when Scott took a step closer.

“Please,” he said, “I just want the _chance_ to play at least. I wanna show you that I can be on first line.” Coach looked him over once, one eyebrow raised, before sighing.

“Alright McCall, but I better not get a furious call from your mother.” Coach stated, “You’ll be goalie, since you’re so healthy and spry now.” He then turned around and yelled at Bobby to come back to bench and sent Scott off toward the field. 

Stiles saw some of the shoulders of Scott’s would-be scrimmage teammates drop at the sight of him jogging forward and he clenched his jaw. These guys were lucky to have Scott on their team; he might not be the best player but damnit at least he _tried._ That was more than any of them could say for themselves. 

Scott took up his place at the net, stick raised as the rest of the boys got into position. Then the assistant blew his whistle and something funny happened. As the shrill sound of the start of game echoed Stiles watched as Scott dropped his stick and clamped his hands around his ears, his knees starting to buckle. Then the game started. 

The boys were off, passing the ball back and forth between each other while Scott scrambled to grab his stick. An offensive player in a yellow jersey ran up to the goal, ball in hand, and flung it at the net. Scott only moved his head just in time for the ball to ricochet off his helmet cage and into the stick of one of his fellow players. A laugh came up from the bench followed by a cheer from, who Stiles assumed to be Allison, behind him. 

He watched as Scott pulled himself up, his stance shaky but sure, as he waited for the next offensive volley. It came very quick; the ball was stolen from the red team and as the player came up to the net he launched the ball at Scott. Stiles waited for Scott to miss, to watch the ball sail into the net- but it never happened.

Moving quicker than Stiles ever thought Scott was capable of moving he snatched the ball out of the air and tossed it to one of his teammates, who juggled it slightly as if he wasn’t expecting it himself. Stiles blinked, as Allison cheered behind him again. 

“Huh.” Coach Finstock said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then game continued, and the longer it went the better Scott played. It seemed that every shot thrown his way he was able to catch, with the kind of dexterity that Stiles hadn’t really seen from him before. Scott was _fast_ , and Stiles leaned in closer to see what was happening, and noted that Scott’s arms were moving faster than his teammates. 

It was a little surreal.

Then Stiles saw Jackson, ball in hand charge forward, knocking another player out of his way in a savage shoulder check. When his team was losing, Jackson got frustrated, and as he sprinted forward Stiles knew that Scott might not be able to save this one. After all, Jackson was the best player on the team.

But Scott seemed to be full of surprises tonight. Jackson took a running jump, and launched the ball at the net. It sailed downward toward Scott, and Stiles saw Scott spin, catching the ball in his stick, and launching it back toward his team in the next second. Stiles actually jumped up and screamed, the other boys on the bench joining him in chanting Scott’s name. He turned and saw Allison and Lydia on their feet, clapping and chanting Scotts name along with the boys. Allion’s smile was especially wide.

Stiles didn’t even notice as Jackson threw his stick on the grass in frustration, and Danny stare at Scott in shock. His best friend just helped to win his scrimmage game, basically by himself, and Stiles couldn’t have been prouder.

______________

Scott McCall had a good day.

Mr. Harris had pulled him aside after physics class and talked to him about a possible job at the animal hospital he could recommend him for, he played in the scrimmage game and had done really well, and Allison had come and chanted his name. Not to mention how everyone in the locker room had congratulated him, clapped him on the shoulder or cheered for him (Danny had even told him good job), baffled by his amazing new skills. Scott himself didn’t know why or how he had managed to defend the goal so well, it didn’t even seem like it was him out there, but something else. Like an instinct for reflexes he didn’t know he had. But Scott was just glad he did well. Nothing could ruin his mood right now, absolutely nothing. 

Except for Jackson Whittmore.

Once Scott was finished changing, he packed everything in his small duffel and left the changing rooms, intending to meet up with Stiles in the parking lot. Instead, Jackson cornered him against the lockers in the front hallway.

“What the hell was that!?” He slammed his hand on a locker, and Scott jumped at the sound.

“What?” Scott asked, baffled by this turn of events.

“Where are you getting your juice McCall.” Jackson demanded.

“ _What?_ ” Scott repeated, his mind automatically going to his fridge at home.

“Where. Are you getting. Your juice.” Jackson enunciated, his eyes a little wild with frustration. Scott opened and closed his mouth, his mind starting to work overtime.

“My mom does all the grocery shopping.” He finally said, deciding that he could ask his mom where they got their orange juice once he got home. Jackson, however, gave him a withering look and stepped closer.

“No, you ass,” Jackson hissed, “I meant the drugs.” 

“What drugs?” Scott blinked, his confusion only growing by the second.

“Stop being stupid!” Jackson all but snarled at him, “where are you getting your steroids!” 

“Steroids?” Scott said, bewildered by this turn of events. “I’m not taking steroids?”

“I told you to stop being stupid,” Jackson said getting closer. Scott assumed that it was supposed to be menacing, and maybe he would have cowered before, but instead he felt the urge to growl and push back. To get ready for an attack. Scott took a small step back. “Tell me where you’re getting your juice and we can be done here.”

“Listen, I’m not taking any steroids.” Scott said, fighting whatever weird aggressiveness was starting to show itself. “I’m not lying, I’m clean.”

“Bullshit.” Jackson said, his eyes boring into Scott’s. “No one gets that good at lacrosse overnight. You’re taking something, and you better cut that shit out or the team could be disqualified from our division.” He pointed a finger at Scott’s face then, and he fought every urge in him not to _claw_ at the digit. “If I ever find out what it is McCall or if I see you using I swear to god, I _will_ report you.”

And with that Jackson turned on his heel and marched off, snatching his own bag that he had left in the hallway. Scott watched him go, bewildered but also fighting off the sudden rush of anger that he had felt. He knew that he wasn’t a confrontational person, but the urge to defend himself, to _fight,_ had been really strong just then. Scott had never wanted to fight anyone in his life before, and all of a sudden now he was ready and willing to punch his team captain in the nose? It made no sense.

Something _was_ different about him.

He started to walk toward the exit again and he felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out and saw that it was a text from Allison; she had slipped him her number after the scrimmage on a ripped piece of paper and he had texted her while he was in the locker room. 

**Allison [7:18pm]: Hey Scott! Hope you’re not too sore from your game winning performance tonight**

She added a little winky face at the end of her sentence and Scott smiled at the message. It was so endearing that he forgot about his “talk” with Jackson and sauntered out of the school and into the parking lot. He didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to google so many facts about lacrosse to write that penultimate scene. I don't know anything about sports and at this point i'm too scared to ask.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter!


	4. Alpha Calls

“So, how was the scrimmage?” her dad asked, molding the ground veal and beef into golf ball sized spheres. Her mom stood at the stove stirring a pan full of tomato sauce and watching the pasta like a hawk. When it came to making dinner, Allison preferred to keep to the sidelines; her parents were religious about timing and proper food preparation, and Allison never planned that far ahead. It was better to stay out of their way and let them do it themselves.

“Oh, it was cool.” Allison said, tapping her phone against her palm. She had asked her parents if it was okay for her to stay at school later for lacrosse scrimmage; she told them that she wanted to study in the library before leaving to watch the game. She refrained from telling them the real reason she stayed: because Scott had asked her too. 

“Just cool?” Victoria asked, arching one perfect eyebrow. That was always the problem with her mother, she never seemed to miss anything. 

“Yeah.” She stated nonchalantly, “it was fun.”

“Did you make any friends?” her dad asked, plopping the final meatball onto the pan and hefting his creations up triumphantly. Her parents were efficient about everything, and blunt about everything. If they wanted to know something, they would ask directly. 

“I think so? I started talking to this girl Lydia.” She said before adding, “and I also befriended this boy in my English class.” Almost immediately, she felt the air in the room shift to something more curious and suspicious. Her mother and her father shared a look, (Allison hated when they did that) and turned to look at her again, curiosity burning in their gazes. “A boy?” Her dad questioned, his gray eyes intent.

“Don’t make it weird guys.” She said, grabbing at an apple in the fruit bowl. “He’s just a kid in my English class.”

“We’re just curious.” Her dad said mildly, sliding the metal sheet pan into the oven. Her mother though, looked a little more serious.

“Do you need me to go condom shopping with you?” She asked, her dark eyes calculating. Allison felt the blood rush to her face heat with embarrassment.

“Absolutely _not-_ ” 

“We should also talk about birth control options.” Her mother stated, plowing over what Allison was about to say. Efficiency was what the Argents were all about, and staying prepared seemed to be what her parents excelled at. “And we should have an in depth talk about sex-”

“Okay!” Allison said loudly, slapping her hands down on the granite island. “I need to go do all my homework. Right now.” She turned to go, eager to get away from whatever conversation about sex her mother was about to pull her into, until her dad stopped her.

“Actually Allison, can you go to the grocery store and pick up some dinner rolls?” He had his phone out and was tucking it into his back pocket. “I forgot to get some earlier.”

Allison sighed, “seriously?”

Her father cocked his head to the side, his face brokering no room for debate. Allison rolled her eyes and grabbed the keys to her dads’ escalade, “is there anything else I should get while I’m out?”

“Just the rolls.” Her dad said smiling; Allison could have sworn she saw a flash of uneasiness in his eyes, but when she blinked there was nothing but calm expectation. Allison turned into the entry way and shrugged into her jacket, opening the front door and marching out to the driveway where the car was waiting.

______________

Chris waited for the front door to close before turning back to Victoria, his smile falling away. Victoria looked up and caught his eye; almost immediately her spine straightened, her expression changing to one that was cool and calculating. She was level-headed and patient, which is what made her so good as Chris’s partner. Both in their marriage and outside it.

“I just got a text.” Chris said by way of introduction, his fingers tapping against the counter. Victoria didn’t say anything, she held out her hand and Chris placed his phone in her outstretched fingers. He watched as she read over the text, and waited for her response. Victoria always grew still whenever she was doing mental calculations or when she was analyzing something. It was intimidating as hell, but it was what made her such an effective strategist.

_Former_ strategist anyways. Those days were long gone, but the marks still remained.

“It’s been ten years.” She said finally, her eyes shifting and back straightening. Chris could see the numbers in her head, the calculations she was solving behind her eyes. “And why show up now?”

“I don’t know either.” He said, “I don’t even know how she got my number. And no doubt if she has this, then she knows we’re here, and where we live.” He pocketed his phone. 

“It could be a threat.” Victoria said, her voice lowering to a dangerous octave. “I could pull out my old equipment and track it.”

“No need,” Chris said, crossing his arms, “she’s not subtle. She’ll be here soon.” He sighed then added, “and I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“Kate only goes where there’s hunting to be had,” Victoria clasped her hands in front of her. “And the Hale pack has been dead for ten years now-”

Chris picked up where she left off, “so, Kate is coming for a family reunion or, more likely,” Chris rubbed his chin, “there’s supernatural who are back in Beacon Hills.”

“Do we know any of the players?” It was such a Victoria question; the kind that only a hunter strategist would ask. 

“No, no” Chris said, “we left that life behind.” But even as he said it, it felt like his phone was burning a hole through his jeans. “I want to stay out of whatever’s happening.” 

“And Allison?” Victoria said, her eyes staring into his. It was one thing to spend their own lives doing what they did; it was another to make their daughter part of it too. The two of them had kept Allison in the dark about who they actually were, and what their family legacy actually was. They did it to protect her, and to ensure that she had a normal life. 

“We keep her out of it.” He said, hoping that they could hold true to that.

______________

“Do you think I should start _The Magnus Archives?_ ” Stiles says, plopping his food tray down on the table. It was a cloudy Thursday afternoon, and they had just finished their third classes before lunch. 

“I dunno.” Scott says, popping a tater tot in his mouth. He had three burgers stacked in front of him instead of the usual one, which Stiles found worrisome as their high school lunches weren’t known for being good. 

“Listen, it’s a podcast about this guy who researches stuff inside this institute but its horror themed and kinda supernatural and I think it’s right up my alley.” Stiles bites into his sandwich hurriedly, “I think it’ll properly scare me.”

“Why do you like being scared again?” Scott asked, brown eyes curious.

“Because it’s fun.” Stiles said swallowing.

Scott gave him an incredulous look, “Being scared is fun?”

“It can be” Stiles cut himself off as he took another bite of his sandwich. “If it’s the right kind of scary.”

“Cause, it’s more interesting if it’s scary?” Scott guessed. 

“Exactly.” Stiles nods matter-of-factly.

Scott was smiling with a bemused look in his eyes. That was the lovely thing about Scott, he was constantly confused by the things Stiles said and did, but followed and supported him anyway. It was one of the many reasons he was a really good friend. 

“Whats scary?” Stiles blinks and sees Allison Argent standing to Scott’s left, lunch tray in hand. Scott turns and, in an amazing display, bangs his knee on the table and swears in embarrassment. But when he smiles at her, the look on his face is warm and bright. 

“Is this seat taken?” She asked, nodding her head at the empty space to Scott’s left.  
“No!” Scott said a little too quickly, and scooted over on the bench to make more room. Allison neatly deposited her lunch next to his and took a seat, nudging him just a little too much to seem inconspicuous. Stiles opted to just watch and listen to this interaction. 

Scott cleared his throat, “Stiles was telling me about a podcast.”  
Allison grinned, “which one?”

“Okay so, it’s called the Magnus Archives-” Stiles says and he launches into a long speech about the events of the first episode. About halfway through his descriptions, he can tell that Scott isn’t really paying attention to what he’s saying. He keeps looking at Allison, who is also only half paying attention, but is also focusing on Scott just as much. Stiles could understand; Allison was really pretty with her pony tail, comfy long sleeved sweater and jean combo, but he was also trying to have a conversation here. 

“It doesn’t sound scary,” Allison says, taking a bite of her own sandwich. “It just kinda sounds a little unnerving.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Stiles says lowly, waggling his finger at Allison. He grabbed his phone and opened google, “here let me find a better synopsis-” 

As he types, Stiles sees Allison turn to Scott again out of the corner of his eye. “Are you free this Saturday?” She whispers to him, and Stiles groans internally. 

Scott chokes on his food a little bit, “this weekend?” His voice ticks up at the end and Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes. He abandons his google search in favor or Flow Free; if his best friend and his new crush were going to flirt in front of him then he didn’t have to give them any attention while they did so.

“Yeah,” she says, and Stiles glances up and watches as Allison says it, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “I was wondering if you wanted to go bowling with me?”

“Yes!” Scott agrees to it almost too quickly, and shakes his head at himself a little. “I mean, yeah. I’m free. Super free.” He says, trying to lean one arm on the table in an attempt at nonchalance, “free as a bird.”

“Great.” Allison beams at him, and Scott’s face goes all mushy again. It’s soft and open, and Stiles kind of wants to gag, (Stiles feels a twinge under his ribs that is definitely _not_ jealousy) and he lightly kicks Scott’s shin under the table. “I’ll see you then.”

“See him where?” A droning voice asks, and Allison, Scott, and Stiles both look to see Lydia, Jackson, and Danny all taking their places next to them. Stiles forgets everything he was thinking and feeling as surprise floods his system. Jackson _never_ sat with them. He was picky about everyone he hung out with and never came near him or Scott. He usually sat at the far table; holding court with a couple of the cheerleaders, members of the lacrosse and basketball teams, and some of the rich kids that owned expensive cars that no teenager should. Lydia and Danny were always with him, and it seemed that the both of them followed his lead even now that he decided to grace Stiles and Scott with his presence. 

“Um,” Allison blinks, looking as confused as Stiles feels. “Scott and I were making plans to go bowling this weekend.” 

“Oh, I love bowling!” Lydia chirped, clapping her hands together. Stiles’s vision zeroed in on her, and despite the fact that he felt his heart flutter in his chest at the sight of her, he still winces at what she says next. “Babe we should go too, make it a double date!”

Jackson’s gaze slides his calculating eyes to Scott, before saying “Yeah sure. Why not.”

Stiles grips his knee instead of groaning; Scott looks like how Stiles feels, and Allison looks like she wants to launch her lunch tray at Lydia’s head. _So much for their date,_ Stiles thinks to himself solemnly. 

“You like bowling?” Stiles asks Lydia weakly, trying to break whatever weird tension just started to build. Jackson tended to make things more volatile, not less, and Stiles would rather do twenty laps on the lacrosse field than deal with this. 

“I’m not super good at it or anything,” Lydia said dismissively, “but it’s fun to watch Jackson play.”

“Oh. cool.” Stiles said, eyes circling back to Danny. “Do, uh, do you like bowling Danny?”

The boy in question, who had a mouthful of soup, narrowed his eyes at Lydia and Jackson in clear annoyance. “Not really.”

“Oh.” Stiles said, not really knowing how to continue with his line of questioning. Stiles was adaptable, but he was at a loss for how to handle social situations like this. He wasn’t as personable as Scott, and much of what he was saying seemed to fall on mostly deaf ears. He resigned himself to just shovel food into his mouth as fast as he can and eventually find refuge in the library. 

Jackson then launches into a spirited discussion with Danny about the upcoming Lacrosse game at home. The two of them discuss plays, dynamics, and positions, most of which goes over Stiles’ head. He glances over and sees Allison turn to Scott and speak to him softly. Scott looks at her and replies, his face softening and his mouth curling in a small grin. The two of them paying no attention to the conversation going on.

Stiles had a feeling that Allison was about to become a much more important staple in his life. And he didn’t know how to feel about that. 

“I hope the division doesn’t do something stupid like put the game indoors.” Stiles finally tunes back into the conversation and watches Jackson stab his mac and cheese in annoyance.

“There’s a wild animal on the loose.” Danny sighs, eating and writing in his notebook at the same time. “They can’t really justify having sports games if they’re unsafe.”

“Every sports game is unsafe.” Jackson said in annoyance, “who cares if some wolf, or bear, or bobcat is running around.”

“Caracal’s aren’t native to this region.” Lydia quips, combing her hair back with one hand. “I think you mean a cougar.” Scott blinks in surprise while Allison and Danny raise their eyebrows in unison. But Jackson looks even more annoyed than he did before. When the silence drags out she looks up to see the incredulity on everyone’s faces and gives her head a little shake, smiling in that charming, wide eyed way she usually does. “I mean I think that’s right.”

Scott turns and makes eye contact with Stiles, confusion all over his face. _What is happening right now?_ Scott mouths, and Stiles shrugs, completely baffled.

 _No idea,_ He mouths back. It was one thing for Allison to join them, a totally different one for the popular kids to sit with them too. Stiles notices as Jackson stops focusing on Lydia and turns to Danny again, starting another debate about Lacrosse. Lydia starts reapplying her lipstick. Scott is looking between everyone in confusion and Allison is frowning at Lydia. 

This whole interaction was beyond strange and Stiles files it away for later analysis at home. One of the things that his dad said last fall was that junior year would be the year where things change in a big way, and it looked like he was right.

______________

Derek was in the woods.

He was surrounded by dark trees on every side, dark spires of wood climbing into the sky, with long spiked branches to block out the light. The sky was an ugly combination of violet and orange, the colors blending together in saturated swirls before him. Beneath his feet, the ground was covered in charred, dead leaves; the smell of burning wood wafting through the air. He stepped through the brush, knowing exactly where his feet were carrying him. He wanted to stop, to turn around, but he kept walking forward, his body refusing to listen to his commands. 

As he walked he came upon a house. It was a large two story house that used to be painted blue with accents of white, but now it was a husk of what it once was. It was blackened by fire and soot, the paneling cracking off the front of the house. One of the bedrooms on the second floor had collapsed in on itself, the wood sticking up in odd spikes. Half the front stairs had broken down and smoke drifted away from the building from where the fires had ripped through it. The walls were crumbling, the dust wafting into the air by the wind, curling above him in delicate swirls.

He stared at it, the house he was raised in, and he felt like he was fifteen again. Young and foolish, walking home to find his home destroyed and his family dead. 

“Derek.” 

He turned, and there was Laura. She looked like he remembered her; chin length dark hair, darker eyes, tan skin the same shade as his, but now her throat was bloody and torn. Red stained the front of her shirt from where her blood splattered down her torso in thick, dark streams. When he looked at her, there was nothing in her eyes.

“The alpha is coming.”

______________

Derek jerked awake, sweating and breathing hard. He turned his head to the clock on his bedside table, it was just past 2:20am. He felt like his skin crawled, his lungs grasping blindly for air, and Derek gripped the sheets as he forced himself to breath. Slowly, he found his breath again, and put a hand to his chest. The exhaustion was creeping in again, and got out of bed, padding his way to the kitchen and chug half a bottle of whiskey. Drinking didn’t usually have a much of an effect on him, but maybe he could drink fast enough that he could get a good buzz and relax enough to pass out without any dreams.

The dreams had always been a part of his life, ever since the fire. But this didn’t feel like the kind of dreams he usually had, those were disjointed and disconnected, this wasn’t. This felt different. 

As he grabbed the bottle and pulled the stopper, a howl echoed far outside his open window and Derek froze. The sound rippled through his skull, like the bells of a cathedral, and Derek clapped his hands over his ears. It was forceful and loud, demanding that he go search. To find the source. 

It was an Alphas call. A command.

_Come to me._ It said, and Derek felt himself growl in response. The alpha was calling for their pack, and Derek had a feeling that this was the kind of alpha that one couldn’t refuse. He jogged back into his bedroom and threw on some sweatpants, his shoes and a hoodie. He needed to know what their numbers were, who the members were, and what he could do to stop them.

Lone wolves like him were one thing, but this alpha was dangerous and had already killed someone and attacked two people. Derek had to handle this, before any hunters showed up and caused more damage than he could undo.

He grabbed his keys and ran out of his apartment, barely registering the door banging shut behind him. Derek Hale wanted this alpha dead, and the first thing he needed to do was see them and their pack. The more he knew about this alpha, the better. 

He needed to know what he was up against. For Laura’s sake as well as his own.

______________

The thing about geometry, is that it is exceedingly easy, until it’s not. One minute, there are simple problems to solve with simple multiplication, then suddenly you’re thrust into complicated equations that require much more work than you signed up for. It was for this reason that Scott _hated_ math class. 

It was late, about 2:44am, and Scott had been awake for far too long at this point. His mom had been making him go to bed at 11pm sharp every night and, unfortunately, high school doesn’t stop for anyone, even if they very nearly got their liver ripped out by a wild animal. Scott had pretended he was asleep until his mother went to bed, (he knew to wait until her heartbeat evened out before getting up) and went to work finishing his math homework. 

Then his stomach growled.

Scott huffed, and rose slowly from his desk. Scott had always had a big appetite, but for the past couple days he was hungry _all the time._ He needed food for every possible moment, and it was especially bad after Lacrosse practice. He found himself grabbing extra food at lunch time and during dinner he served himself fourth and fifth helpings and shoved whole bags of chips and cookies into his backpack to hold himself over. 

Maybe his body was going through a growth spurt, maybe that was reason for all the weirdness.

Scott quietly stalked down the stairs to the kitchen, trying to avoid the floorboards that creaked especially loudly. Usually when he did this, he would bump and jostle the furniture because of the darkness, but this time he didn’t. His vision must be getting better, because he could clearly see everything in the dark.

He made his way into the kitchen, and made a beeline for the fridge. Maybe there was leftover meatloaf from Monday’s dinner or-

A sound, unlike anything he’d ever heard, sounded outside and Scott froze. It was a deep sound, throaty and resonant, and it seemed to bang around in his skull. He felt every muscle seize and Scott, without even realizing it, turned on his heel and silently moved through the kitchen to the back of the house. With the kind of coordination that should not have come naturally to him, Scott opened the back window and slipped through, his feet landing near silently on the grass.

He began to walk, his legs propelling him toward the source of the sound. Scott could hear his own consciousness in his head, screaming at him to turn around, to go back home, that there were wild animals in the woods-

But he didn’t hear it. It seemed like there was something else moving him forward, another force that had taken control of his basic functions. Scott passed through his backyard and into the tree line; he knew instinctually that his backyard connected to the large swath of woods in Beacon Hills, but he didn’t take this path enough to know it very well. Despite that something in him knew the way.

He passed tree after tree, rock after rock, searching. Searching for something, or someone. He sniffed the air, finding a faint scent and turning towards it. He knew almost immediately that it was the scent of a wolf, and that this wolf was important, really important.

He walked towards it.

He hadn’t taken ten steps before something barreled into him from his right. Scott yelped as he was thrown to the ground, his shoulder hitting the dirt with a dull thud. Scott scrambled up to his feet, ready to face whatever animal had come after him now, but what stared back at him wasn’t an animal.

It was Derek Hale. And he looked pissed.

“I knew it,” Derek snarled. He was breathing hard, and his face was coated in sweat. “I smelled you at the grocery store. You didn’t even try to hide your scent.”

“I-” Scott stuttered, blindsided by what was happening. He felt in-control of himself again, but now that he stared at Derek he felt afraid. Afraid and angry.

“It turned you and now you’re going to join up, but that’s not happening.” Derek said, stalking forward with furious dark eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Scott finally managed to bite out, his voice breathy and higher than he would’ve liked to sound. The words didn’t seem to register for Derek, as he grabbed the front of Scotts shirt and slammed him against the nearest tree. Scott yelped with the force of the action, Derek Hale was _really_ strong.

“Where is the Alpha?” Derek snarled, his eyes boring into Scotts with the kind of angry intensity that Scott had only seen in action movies. Only those looks were made by actors, and Derek didn’t look like he was acting. Scott squirmed in Derek’s grasp, but that just made him tighten his grip in Scotts shirt.

“I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about-” 

“ _Don’t lie to me,_ ” Derek snarled, and this time it actually sounded like a wolf’s snarl. “You were turned a week ago and you’re out here to meet with it. Where. Is. The. Alpha.” Derek slammed Scott against the tree again, and Scott yelped his hands gripping Derek’s wrists. 

“I’m not here to meet with anyone!” Scott yelled, he lashed out with his knee and caught Derek in the ribs. The older man grunted but didn’t let him go. “I don’t even know why I’m out here!”

“Bullshit.” Derek said, leaning forward so that he was right in Scotts face. “The alpha called you here to give you orders, and since you came running like a dutiful little puppy, you’re gonna tell me who they are and where they are.”

Scott was starting to really panic at this point. There was a large man, who was freakishly strong, holding him up against a tree in the dark woods and interrogating him on the whereabouts of- some random person? Scott struggled against Derek’s iron grip, and lashed out again, his foot connecting with Derek’s chest.

The older man let out a grunt and loosened his grip; Scott ripped his hands off his shirt, the fabric tearing as he fell to the ground. Scott scrambled to his feet while Derek started to advance again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Scotts voice a little shrill with terror. “I don’t know what an alpha is! Stop!” He thrust his hands out in front of him, to protect himself, or to ward Derek off, he didn’t know. But silence fell, and when he looked up Derek was staring down at him in confusion and anger.

“What do you mean you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Derek said quietly, and Scott felt his stomach drop when he saw that Derek’s eyes, which had been brown seconds ago, were now glowing blue. 

“I- I don’t know what an alpha is,” Scott stuttered, “I don’t even know why I’m out here! Something-”

“-called you here.” Derek finished for him, his shoulders falling but his breath still coming in heavy. Scott stood up then, his hands still held out in what he hoped was a placating manner.

“Yeah,” Scott said, “yeah it was like I was hypnotized. I don’t want to be out here.” There was a moment of tense quiet, where the only sounds were of their heavy breathing. Slowly, Scott watched as the intense blue of Dereks eyes began to fade into a dark brown, and Derek surveyed Scott with a frown.

“So, you really don’t know why you’re out here?” Derek finally asked. The wind whipped through the branches overhead and Scott heard an owl call somewhere in the night. What the hell was going on?

Scott stared at Derek for a moment, the confusion slowly morphing into anger and outrage. “No!” He shouted, “do you really think I would walk out into the middle of the woods at 3 am for fun!? What is _wrong_ with you?!” 

“Well I assumed that as a _werewolf_ would know what a fucking alpha was.” Derek said, crossing his arms, “my mistake.”

Scott felt the breath leave him in a whoosh, followed by a sharp inhale and a hysterical laugh. Did Derek Hale really just say what he thought he said? 

“Werewolves aren’t real!” Scott threw his hands up, “and you’re a creep for stalking me!”

“I bet you can hear things,” Derek said, his eyes once again boring into Scott’s with an uncomfortable amount of competence. Like he knew him, knew him and understood. “I bet you can hear things you shouldn’t be able to hear. Like heartbeats and sounds from far away that no human can hear.” He stepped forward and Scott took a step back, “I bet you can see in the dark perfectly. I’ll bet that your appetite is enormous, bigger than any normal persons.’” 

Scott felt himself trip and just barely caught himself from falling over. “I’ll bet that your reflexes are a lot better than they were before, and that you’re faster and stronger.” Derek continued, the blue glow returning to his eyes in a flash. “You’re different Scott, don’t you think there’s a reason why that is?”

“I’m- i’m not-”

There was click, and Scott looked down at Derek’s right hand, which was holding a cellphone. Derek turned the phone towards Scott; on the screen the camera app was open, and Scott saw himself in his now dirty pajamas, barefoot, and looking scared. But besides the fear, Scott saw that his eyes weren’t their usual brown, but a glowing yellow. 

Like an animals’. Scott stared at his own face, his unusual eyes staring back at him on the phone. 

“Like I said,” Derek pocketed his phone then, drawing himself up to his full height. “You’re a werewolf, and the person who turned you into one is the alpha who killed my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, things got pretty crazy so I couldn't update. Then COVID-19 cancelled literally everything and suddenly I have a lot of free time on my hands. There should be one or two more updates this month so be on the lookout for those!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed chapter 4, there's more to come in the coming chapters!


	5. Waxed and Waned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know what to tell you guys, this chapter kicked my ass. I'm glad I finally got it out there but man it was a doozy.

The eggs in the pan pop and sizzle in the butter they’re being cooked in, as Noah Stilinski stirs them around. 

He was dressed in one his pressed uniforms, his sheriffs badge sitting proudly on his left breast pocket. Noah had his work cut out for him today; he had to go into the office and look over the police reports from a week ago, coordinate the investigation with the detectives that had come from the city, and he had to get Stiles to school on time.

A task easier said than done.

“Stiles!” he calls behind him as he dishes the eggs onto a plate, “get down here and eat!”

Noah turns back and turns off the stove just as there is a faint shuffling on the second floor above his head. Then there’s the distinct sound of a door slamming and hurried steps coming down the stairs before Stiles barrels into the kitchen, backpack in hand and looking harried.

Noah places the plate of eggs, bacon, and toast on the table and Stiles wastes no time shoveling half the food onto his own plate. Noah picks up his cup of coffee and sits down, taking a sip while Stiles shoves food into his mouth. At this point he had stopped feeling surprised by how much Stiles managed to eat in a day.

“Did you take your meds?” He asks gently, buttering a slice of toast and taking a bite. Stiles pauses, his eyes widening.

“No.” He mumbles, mouth full of food.

Noah looks up and cocks his eyebrow at his son, who shoves away from the table and jogs up the stairs loudly. After a few moments of shuffling, Stiles jogs back down and resumes eating. Noah lets the contented silence drag out a little bit, letting Stiles get comfortable before he sets his mug down again.

“I noticed my investigation files were out of order again.” He says, and Stiles whole body twitches. “Weird how that keeps happening.”

Stiles swallows thickly, his eyes focusing on the floor, “yeah that’s super weird.” He says, voice cracking. 

He turns toward his son fully, staring him down the table while Stiles desperately tries to avoid looking him in the eye. “Remind me,” he says, “which one of us is the police officer?”

Stiles’s eyes shift to his lap, food abandoned, and he says quietly, “you are.”

“Right,” Noah says, “so stop messing around in my files.” He says lowly, “I get that you’re interested in this stuff but what I’m dealing with isn’t something my teenage son needs to be involved in.” He said, standing up and shrugging on his jacket.  
“I know okay,” Stiles says, “but there are inconsistencies dad! Why was she naked? And it was her throat that was torn out, so it doesn’t look like she was food for a bear or something-”

“Stiles I’m perfectly capable of reading my own investigation reports.” Noah cuts him off and crosses his arms, “you on the other hand are no supposed to be messing with official police business, both as a civilian and as my son.”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles says, his mouth quirking up at the corner in an attempt at charm. “Am I really a civilian if my dad is the Sheriff?”

 _“Yes.”_ Noah says firmly, and Stiles’ smile falls. “Next time I find out you’ve been snooping around in my work, you’re grounded. Got it?”

Stiles sighs, “yeah I got it.”

“Good.” He says, picking his hat up and setting it on his head. “Now up and at ‘em. Time for school.”

Stiles grumbles some, but picks up his backpack and heads for the front door. Noah isn’t far behind him, keys in hand, as they both head to their cars. Once he’s inside his cruiser, and watches Stiles drive off in the rearview mirror, Noah finds himself pausing.

Why was the Hale girl naked when his officers found her? Not to mention that aside from the numerous scratch marks, the biggest injury to her was her torn throat. If it was a bear attack, why didn’t she have more bruises or broken bones? Further, why did the chase lead to the ground of the barely intact Hale house?

Noah swallowed and turned the key in the ignition, hoping that he wasn’t in over his head.

______________

Scott feels like he’s gonna jump out his skin any second now, and the quiet of the math classroom is not helping.

He hadn’t slept at all for two days. After being lured out into the middle of the woods by an “alpha,” getting attacked by a pissed-off Derek Hale, and then getting walked home by said pissed-off Derek Hale, Scott couldn’t lay still long enough to fall asleep that night. He spent Thursday trying to cover any cracks in his windows to his room, so that any outside noises would be blocked and spent the night tossing and turning. His anxiety not letting him rest for fear that the monster Derek warned him about would hypnotize him again and lure him out to the woods for a second time. His head was buzzing, and for two days he did his best to try and understand what was happening.

This is just what he needed, to get turned into a werewolf at sixteen. God, that sounded like the plot of a bad Nickelodeon live-action show.

Scott drummed his fingers against his desk as his knee bounced up and down underneath his desk. He should be tired right now. In fact, he should be leaning over his desk falling asleep, but instead he’s full of restless energy. When Derek had taken him home two days ago, he told him that Friday night would be when the full moon would rise. 

The same full moon that would trigger his first werewolf transformation. Which was a terrifying thought. 

A werewolf transformation. 

Because he was a werewolf. 

Derek had then plugged his number into Scott’s phone, and told him that he would help him get through his first night and also teach him how to control his new abilities. _‘You’re a supernatural creature now Scott,’_ he said, _‘that means you can do things normal people can’t do. You’re gonna need help.’_ And as scary as Derek was, Scott didn’t know what else to do but listen to him. 

There was so much he didn’t understand right now. He had texted Derek three paragraphs of questions, trying to understand what he could and what everything meant. Derek had told Scott to calm down and that he’d explain on Friday, which only stressed Scott more.

He felt something hit the back of his head, and Scott turned to see Stiles in the desk kitty corner from his, staring at him with a look of concern. That was the problem with having a best friend since kindergarten, they knew you well enough to know when you were freaking out.

‘Are you okay?’ Stiles mouths, hand cupped over the left side of his mouth.

‘Fine.’ Scott mouths back, his knee bouncing away.

‘You don’t look fine.’ Stiles responds, his dark eyes worried.

‘I just didn’t get much sleep last night’ Scott mouths back. The thought occurs to him then that he could tell Stiles; let him know what was happening to him. Explain why he’s been acting differently. As soon as the idea crosses his mind, he rejects it. Stiles has his own stuff going on, and he didn’t need to stress about Scott’s problems too. He could deal with his werewolfishness himself.

“Boys.” Scott and Stiles both jerk to see Mrs. Lewandowski, staring them down in exasperation. “While I’m impressed you can have silent conversations, you can wait until class is over.” She arches a brow at both of them and Scott ducks his head.

Their teacher continues with the lesson, but Scott barely manages to pay attention. He’s too preoccupied trying to stay calm and to reign himself in. He can smell the salami sandwich in Chip McCormick’s backpack three seats in front of him and can hear the sounds of chalk against a chalkboard five classrooms away. Scott grips his pencil a little tighter; he feels like he could crawl out of his skin he’s so overwhelmed with everything. and when the bell rings he’s out of his seat in seconds.

Scott walks out of the classroom to the bustling of the hallway, turns a corner, and leans against the nearest lockers to get his bearings. Everything is just so _loud_ right now, and the squeaks of sneakers on the floor and slamming doors is not helping. He squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to practice breathing in and out, trying to focus through all the extra noise. But it feels like everything just gets louder until it’s all just buzzing static in his ears, and Scott wants to scream but can’t.

His ears pick up on a rhythm, a heartbeat he soon realizes, and Scott looks up to see his chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris approaching him. Scott balls his hands into a fist and forces himself to focus on Mr. Harris; his calm heartbeat, the sound of his footsteps, the smell of his cheap cologne. Surprisingly, it helps as the excess noise from the hallway becomes muffled. 

“You alright Scott?” Mr. Harris asks, gently putting his hand on his shoulder. Scott plasters on what he hopes is a normal grin and shoves his hands into his jeans.

“Oh, yeah fine.” He lies, “just my allergies acting up.” 

“Ah,” Mr. Harris says. He adjusts the strap on his messenger bag and smiles at Scott. “I need to ask you about something.” 

“Um, what?” Scott asks, now just a little nervous.

“I know you like animals,” Mr. Harris says smiling. “An old colleague of mine moved back to Beacon Hills a couple weeks ago to take over the animal clinic in town.” Scott feels his uneasiness abate just a little, and it’s replaced with curiosity as he listens. “And he needs a new assistant.”

Scott blinks at Mr. Harris as he processes his words, and when he finally does Scott reels. “You mean like a job?” 

“Yeah.” Mr. Harris checks his watch, “ah, I’ve got to get to class but I’d be willing to put in a good word for you if you applied.”

“I- yes! Absolutely!” Scott says, deliberately keeping his voice from jumping an octave in excitement. “I’d really like that Mr. Harris.”

“Awesome, I’ll let him know.” Mr. Harris smiles kindly at Scott as he turns to go, “his name is Dr. Alan Deaton, look him up and get back to me.” 

Scott feels restless again, and fights to keep his voice normal, “sure thing.”

______________

“French is a stupid language.” Jackson practically snarls, as he erases the conjugation he just wrote out. Danny sighs, and sets book down to watch his best friend angrily scribble down what he hopes is the right answer for the question he’s been stuck on for the past ten minutes. Jackson wasn’t stupid by any means, but he wasn’t the most exceptional student in school. Last year Jackson spent a full week preparing for his finals and almost bit the head off of anyone who wasn’t Danny. 

“I think you need a break Jacks.” Danny says gently, patting Jacksons hand. 

Jackson lets his textbook drop onto the table with a thump and shut his notebook harshly, the pages slapping together loud in the quiet of the library. He sat back in his chair, jaw working as he glared at his homework. “I hate this.”

“Why’d you take French anyway?” Danny asks as he underlines the next sentence he reads.

“My mom wanted me too.” Jackson grumbles.

“Maybe Lydia can help you.” Danny says offhandedly, “I know that Madam Weber waxes poetic about her ‘perfect’ accent every chance she gets.” 

There’s a full five minutes where its’ silent between them, and Danny looks up to see Jackson glaring out the library window. Jackson wasn’t a terribly hard guy to read, especially since Danny has known him his whole life, and he only got this quiet when something was bothering him. Actually, bothering him.

“Okay,” Danny shuts his textbook, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

Danny levels Jackson with a withering look and Jackson glares back. Other people would simply back off if Jackson looked at them like that, but not Danny. There were far scarier things than Jackson Whittmore in a pissy mood.

“Dude, seriously, what's your problem?” Danny asks again, leaning toward his friend.

Jackson, taking a second to look around the library, leans in and says, “it’s Lydia okay.” “I thought as much.” Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “what’s wrong with Lydia?” 

“Nothing. I mean-” Jackson groaned before slumping back in his seat, “I don’t know. She’s fine I guess, but I don’t know if _we’re_ fine, you know?”

Danny arched an eyebrow at his friend and dog-eared his book. Turning fully toward Jackson, Danny crossed his arms. “Explain.”

Jackson huffed, closing his eyes as if praying for patience, before he spoke. “Lydia is…fine okay. She’s hot, and she always answers my texts, and the sex is great, and we look great together, and my parents like her. I mean, what’s not to like.”

“But?” Danny prompts, and Jackson sighs again.

“We don’t really- we don’t really click.” Jackson says, “not anymore anyways.”

Jackson shifted in his seat, his gaze shifting to the view out the window again. Truth be told, Danny had suspected as much about Jackson’s relationship for a while now, but he hadn’t expected him to say so out loud. Jackson was clever, but Lydia excelled at basically every academic subject she encountered. What’s more is that she tried to hide it; pretending that she wasn’t in four different AP classes and getting A’s for every assignment. Danny suspected that she did it because she didn’t want Jackson to feel insecure, but judging from the way he was acting right now, it wasn’t working that well. 

“You should probably break up with her then.” Danny says, flipping his book back open. 

“What?” He felt Jackson’s gaze on the side of his face, staring at him. “Dude no.”

“You just told me you don’t click anymore.” Danny says, finally looking Jackson in the eye. 

“Yeah, but” Jackson shifts in his seat, “doesn’t mean I want to break up.”

Danny focused very carefully on setting his book down, eyeing Jackson the entire time he does so. “I’m sorry,” Danny said slowly, “but you just told me that you don’t click with your girlfriend anymore.” Jackson looks away but Danny presses on, “and you haven’t done anything to fix what's wrong. And you _still_ don’t want to break up?”

“Well she hasn’t tried to fix anything either!” Jackson snarled, and Danny rolled his eyes.

“No offense Jax, but you don’t like to talk about any of the shit that’s bothering you.” He sighs, “She probably knows something is wrong, but doesn’t know what it is. Because you haven’t talked to her.”

There’s a pause then, as Jackson clenches and unclenches his jaw in thought. Silently, Danny hopes that Jackson heeds his advice and breaks up with Lydia, hopes that his best friend will do the unselfish thing.

“If she’s so smart, she can figure it out.” Jackson says finally, and Danny groans in exasperation.

“Jax, seriously-”

“Just fuckin drop it.” Jackson says, “I’m done talking about this.”

Danny closes his mouth; Jackson is looking out the window again, jaw working, and Danny knows that he’s done being honest for the day. He swallows his protestations and opens his book again, knowing that whatever’s happening between Jackson and Lydia is probably going to end badly. 

Just as he’s getting into the novel again, Danny feels pinpricks on the back of his spine. They raise the hair on his neck and he doesn’t see so much as he feels the presence of potential danger. Ever since he was a kid he knew what this sensation was, innately understood that some people were normal, and some were not. That in a town like Beacon Hills, that seemed to pulse like is had its own heartbeat, there were going to be weirdos. 

But as Danny turned around, he didn’t expect one of those weirdos to be Scott McCall.

His “sixth sense” and he referred to it, had never pinged on Scott before, not until recently. Until after he was attacked by that wild animal. An animal, that Danny suspected, wasn’t much of a wild animal at all. Scott was just walking through the library, book clutched in one hand, and looking a little more apprehensive and paler than usual. The pinpricks on his neck didn’t let up, they just kept pulsing as Scott walked by, not even turning to look at the two of them.

Scott had changed somehow. 

“McCall’s got some nerve, pretending that he’s not doping” Jackson said, and Danny looks over at his friend who was now glowering at an oblivious Scott. “No one gets that good at Lacrosse in three days or that twitchy. He’s taking something.”

Danny turns back to Scott and watches him; watches as he sits down at a table by himself and opens his book, pouring over the contents. Danny watches how his leg bounces, the twitch of his fingers, and how he seems to freeze every couple second and cock his head to the side after hearing a noise. 

Jackson wasn’t entirely wrong, but Danny knew deep in his bones that Scott wasn’t doping. He knew that whatever was going on, went much deeper than that.

______________

“How about Dominic?” Lydia asks, making a right turn. “He plays for the soccer team and his parents are super rich.”

When Lydia offered to drive her home from school, Allison had been a little confused. After all, Lydia didn’t really know her all that well, but seemed determined to make friends with her despite their extreme differences in personality. Lydia seemed completely preoccupied with makeup, Jackson Whittmore, and the social politics of Beacon Hills High. But Allison didn’t have many friends besides Scott (he didn’t really count as a friend anyways), and it was a relief not to sit alone at a lunch table.

She just wished that Lydia would talk about _anything_ other than this.

“I don’t really know him.” Allison shrugged. All she knew about Dominic is that yesterday he looked their history teacher in the eye and asked him if George Washington and George Washington Carver were the same person without a hint of irony. 

Lydia hummed, her lips pursing in thought. Allison kept her eyes on the road out of the car windshield, her fingers tapping along to the latest pop tune on the radio. A thought occurred to her then: Lydia knew everyone at the school, she could provide information.

“What about Scott?” Allison asked, “Scott McCall?”

“Scott McCall?” Lydia turned to her head to give her a surprised look, before focusing on the road again. “We went to kindergarten together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, a million years ago.” Lydia waved her hand dismissively, “he’s a nice guy. A little dopey maybe, and Jackson thinks he’s a moron,” Allison feels herself rising to Scotts defense, but Lydia keeps talking. “He’s not very academically inclined but he plays lacrosse. Apparently, coach is considering putting him on First Line.”

“Oh, cool.” Allison says, not really knowing how to reply to that and trying to get ahold of her annoyance and confusion.

“Why ask about Scott?” Lydia pauses at a stop sign, looks both ways, then keeps driving. 

“I don’t know, we’ve talked some.” She can feel her cheeks flushing, and bits the inside of her cheek to not look completely obvious. “I guess I wanted to know if he was a weirdo or something.”

Lydia snorted, “I mean he’s kind of nerdy but honestly that’s it. Scott is, like, the most normal guy you will ever meet.” Lydia made another right turn onto Allison’s street, “if you look up the phrase ‘Average Joe’ in the dictionary you’ll find a picture of Scott McCalls face printed next to it.”

Lydia finally, mercifully, pulls up to Allisons driveway and slides the parking brake into place. “Here we are!”

“Thanks Lydia.” Allison says, smiling at her in a way that she hopes is encouraging.

Lydia pats her hand, “that’s what friends are for,” she simpers. Allison gathers up her bag onto her jean-clad lap and steps out of the car, closing the door behind her with a thud. “See you tomorrow!”

Allison watches as Lydia drives off, the form of her silver lexus retreating in the afternoon sun. She sighs, and marches toward her house, shouldering open the front door and sliding her shoes off. She can hear voices in the living room, and Allison makes her way toward them, bag hanging off one shoulder.

“Hey guys, what’re we doing for dinner-” Allison cuts herself off as her eyes fall on three people seated on the couch; her mother, her father, and a woman. She has long dark blonde hair that goes past her shoulders, mischievous brown eyes, her favorite leather jacket, and a familiar impish grin. 

“Hey there Ally Cat.” Aunt Kate says, her lips pulling into a grin.

______________

Stiles loses track of Scott after class, and then cant find him for the rest of the day.

Not matter how many times he texts Scott throughout the day, no matter how he looks for him in the halls, Scott is nowhere to be found. Now, Stiles will be the first to admit that he can be a little oblivious, but Scott has never been known for his subtlety. He also doesn’t avoid his friends, much less his _best_ friend. 

If Stiles were anybody else, he would probably say that he’s hurt. But he’s not anybody else, so he’s definitely _not_ hurt. Definitely not. 

But when he gets a text from Scott after school, he almost drops everything to see what it says.

**Scott [6:21pm]: Hey I’ve got some stuff to finish tonight but I cant do it at home**

**Scott [6:21pm]: Can u cover for me and tell my mom I’m with u if she calls tonight?**

**Scott [6:22pm]: I know ur dad isn’t home and sorry for springing this on u**

**Scott [6:22pm]: I just need some space from her haha**

Reading the texts in succession, Stiles felt a mild sense of panic start building up in his chest. Space? From his mother? Who he loves dearly and would do anything for? Not likely. And Scott and Stiles had an agreement: they only agreed to cover for each other like this if it was an emergency. 

What the fuck?

**Stiles [6:22pm]: yeah sure**

**Stiles [6:23pm]: I got your back**

Yeah fuck that. Stiles was gonna find out what the hell was going on with his friend. He walked over to his desk and pulled out a notebook and a pen. He was gonna do this by order of elimination: Scott liked going to three places because they were familiar and he was comfortable there. Stiles scribbled down all the places Scott would go, ripped out the page, and sprinted to his front door.

______________

Derek fastened the manacles around his wrists, making sure they were locked around his wrists. The manacles were old, made of thick metal, and polished. Scott noted that Derek must have taken good care of them if they weren’t rusted in any way. 

Derek examines his work; the manacles were pretty loose around his wrists, only just managing to stay on his arms because of the width of his knuckles. There was another set fastened around his ankles, which came together in two long chains fastened to a long metal stake driven into the ground. 

He explained that Scott needs large manacles because when he transformed, all of his muscles would double in size and he needed the extra room, among other werewolf related growing pains. Derek had spent maybe an hour and half speeding through the intricacies of a first werewolf transformation and Scott feels more overwhelmed then he did before. 

He learned that werewolves have three transformations, human, hybrid, and a full transformation. Werewolves are forced into a full transformation during the full moon but they can learn to control their shifting over time and practice. Derek also told him that the first transformation is always the hardest, and that it leaves you exhausted and vulnerable after it’s over, but more importantly, that it was also the most dangerous. A werewolfs first transformation is when their instincts take over, and if they have no one to watch them, there was a good chance they could find and attack someone. It was a lot to take in.

“Remember,” Derek said, “ _don’t_ fight against the transformation. It’s just gonna strain your body and make you more tired.” He shoved the metal stake attached to Scotts chains deeper into the earth, and Scott swallowed nervously. “Your instincts are gonna take over, and if you try to fight them there’s a good chance you’ll just force yourself into a panic.” 

Scott shuffled the chains nervously, “so how are you gonna be able to take care of me then? I mean you’re gonna transform too.”

“Like I said,” Derek sits down on a log, and pulls out five different take out containers. “I’ve been a werewolf my entire life. I can control myself during a full moon.” Derek then hands over three of the containers to Scott along with a plastic fork. “But you’re new to this, meaning you’ll probably lose it for the entire night. I’ll be around to make sure you don’t escape and rip someones throat out by accident.” 

He says it so nonchalantly, so calmly, but Scott feels his stomach drop. At the silence, Derek looks up, sees his face, and then tacks on, “but you wont do that obviously.”

“You’re not very good at making people feel better.” Scott says swallowing, staring down at the food in his lap. For some reason, Derek got him three massive portions of lasagna from Zarletti’s. “What’s this for?”

“You know how you’re always hungry these days?” Derek shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “Well werewolf transformations burn a shitton of calories. Eating this is gonna curb your instinct to hunt later in the night.” He swallows another bite of food, “so eat. Trust me, it’ll help.”

Scott sighs, opens a container, and digs into the food. They spend the next half our eating, and then Derek runs through some more tips and tricks of being a werewolf. He tells Scott a lot of information, almost too much. He learns that werewolves can be loners, like Derek, or they can live in packs of 5 to 10 members who all obey one leader, the alpha. It’s the alpha who is the strongest out of the wolf pack, and it’s also the alpha who has the power to turn humans into werewolves. It was this mysterious alpha that bit Scott and attacked Boyd, and was now stalking around Beacon Hills. 

“What if he comes back tonight?” Scott shoves the empty plastic container into Dereks duffel, dread making his stomach roll.

“That’s why I have this.” From his boot, Derek pulls out a wicked looking hunting knife. The blade catches the light of the setting sun and Scott winces at it. “This is silver. Werewolves can’t take silver weapons or wolfsbane.” He sheathes the blade again, and checks Scott’s chains one more time, his face serious and contemplative. “Werewolves don’t have a lot of weaknesses, but the ones we do have can be deadly.” 

“Again,” Scott says, “not very reassuring.”

Derek steps back and gives Scott another once over. “Look I’m not really in the business of sugarcoating stuff,” he gazes up at the sky, which is rapidly shifting from rosy to purple. “I’m not doing you any favors by not telling you what you need to know.”

“Sure, sure, sure. Except now I’m terrified of hurting people I care about.” Scott says, fidgeting with the chains again.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Derek says, “normal people are scared of that too.” Scott looked up, and Dereks eyes were sad and far away, like he was remembering something. It makes him wonder what Derek, the orphaned child of the Hale family, really went through all these years and how he managed to survive this long.

There’s the sound of something snapping, a twig breaking underfoot, and Scott and Derek immediately look up. Derek pulls out his knife. 

“Who’s there?” He says, his voice low and threatening. There’s no answer, and Derek takes a step forward, but then there’s a crash and a body trips over the bushes, and falls head over heels onto the ground in front of them.

There’s a second of surprised silence before Scott makes a noise of disbelief. “ _Stiles?_ ”

The teen in question scrambles to his feet, dirt stained and covered in leaves, and looking both scared and furious at the same time. “Yeah it’s me.” He brushes himself off and glares at both of them, “honestly, what the fuck.”

Scott fumbles, not really sure what he’s supposed to say, “Wha-”

“You avoid me the entire day.” Stiles hisses, “you’re jumpy and acting weird. And then you text me, asking me to cover for you, without telling me _anything_ else. And then I get lost in the woods only to find out that this guy,” Stiles points at Derek, practically spitting his next words, “has you chained up? What the fuck? _What the fuck?_ ”

“Look it’s not what you think-”

“Then _what. Is going. On._ ”

“Kid,” Derek says, “Stiles. You gotta go. Now”

Stiles whirls on him, his face quickly turning pink from the anger that’s clearly building in his eyes. “You,” he pokes Derek in the chest, “are a fucking creep.”

Scott opens his mouth, but whatever words were going to come out of his mouth die on his tongue. A pulse ripples through his body, causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. Scott starts to shiver; he can feel his body changing, his arms lengthening, claws growing and sharpening from his fingers. His skin burns where thick hair starts to grow, and Scott can literally feel every part of himself changing as the moonlight falls over him. 

Derek is in the middle of holding Stiles off, arguing with him. “I know what this looks like but trust me, you have to lea-”

“My dad’s the sheriff and I’m so going to tell him about-”

“I don’t fuckin’ care who your dad is, you’re gonna be in trouble if you don’t-”

“I’m not scared of-” Scott howls, his terror melting away and is replaced with something else. Something strange. Something that feels a lot like hunger. 

He’s out of his mind. He feels disconnected from his body, and when he fixes his eyes on Stiles, he is himself and he is not. He catalogues the softness in his face, the pulse of his blood, the fear starting to waft off of him. Scott lunges forward, and doesn’t pay any mind to the sound of chains snapping.


End file.
